To Conjure a Heart
by MysticSpiritus
Summary: "Hello, sweetie," were the words of Lady Hilda, master herbalist and powerful mage. Too bad they weren't directed at the Regent. Plague doctors weren't supposed to have silver hair and a fondness for pretty things. Now rated M for slight citrus and Hilda's dark side.
1. Chapter 1

_Mystic: Because I absolutely refuse to believe that Kuja died at the end of the game, I'm back again for more Kuja/Hilda stockholm syndrome fun. Drama forever follows these two, and I can never write a strictly happy fic for them. Expect angst/drama/sappy crap from this new idea of mine._

* * *

**To Conjure a Heart**

* * *

**The Last Sorcerer**

My first broom was a gift from my mother. It wasn't for riding or flying yet, because I was only six years old and I had to learn how to sweep the floor. But she promised that if I swept the floor really, really well, than she'd wake me up at midnight for my very first lesson.

Ha, that floor didn't have one speck of dust on it. Father even checked by rubbing a white glove across the surface. I stood there with a smile, my hair falling out of its braid, before running off to take a quick nap so I'd be well-rested. (Those were the days before corsets; I miss those days quite a bit.)

If I could get the chance to speak to my former self, I'd tell her to run and run quickly. Take that broom, pluck out the loose straw, and fly far away to the forests. Live there amongst the trees, dance under the twin moons, don't bother yourself with boys. Become that weird old lady who drinks sassafras tea and sits on her front porch, always with a story to tell.

But traveling through all of time and space is nothing more than a fairy tale of my people. I don't have some magical blue ship and a quirky friend with a bow tie who knows how to pilot the thing. If given the chance again, I'll tell you about that fairy tale. It's for our children, a bedtime story, but us adults are fascinated by it just the same.

I have yet to become old, but many people do call me weird. I drink plenty of sassafras tea, but only in the springtime. And the only stories I have to tell now are more of a nightmare than a fairy tale. Most of it is my own doing; a poor choice here, another bad decision there. My six-year-old self would be so disappointed.

The beginning of the nightmare begins with a lie. And a cake. The cake was part of the lie. My favourite treat betrayed me, so now I like truffles. Every little girl dreams about her wedding, even the little girls who grow up to take religious vows. We'll kindly ignore the fact that choosing to take a religious veil is another form of wedding, but this nightmare of a tale is about myself and not my sister who became a Sister in Esto Gaza.

Many individuals believe that a wedding day is all about the bride; I personally think those people need a sound box about their ears. (My grandmother used to box my ears if I spoke with an attitude. The teenage years were a bit painful.) Father and mother taught me that a wedding is about a marriage, both bride and groom, the rest of their lives together. 'Til death do they part, better or for worse, sickness and in health. Honor, cherish, love, obediance (_oh!_ don't cringe). You might realize I left an important one out - and you'd be right, because my chosen spouse believed it was optional.

Fidelity, faithfulness, whatever you may wish to call it. Regent Cid had no use for only one woman, and thus was the beginning of a horror story.

Consider adultery like a ladder; the first rung is a mistake, quickly consumed by guilt and steps are immediately taken to prevent it from ever happening again. Forgivable, so long as the fornicator is repentent. (Or not, I'm still not sure. Sex can be so complicated.) Other rungs may be hidden emotion for another person; again, forgivable, because sometimes physical betrayal doesn't even take place. More people are guilty of that than many even realize.

Myself included. Moving along.

But then, on the top rung of the adulterous, scarlet ladder, is the ongoing physical affair that remains behind closed doors or secret meetings. Notes are passed between third parties, waiting to be discovered by the innocent spouse. I didn't find any risque note that might make a virgin blush, but through the embarrassing grapevine of gossiping handmaidens. Cid had crawled up the ladder and jumped off the highest rung into the arms of a pub wench.

When confronted by an angry and jealous mage, the regent caved worse than a miner digging for golden treasure. He admitted his wrongdoing, his womanizing, but apologized out of fear of my power, not because he broke his wife's heart. Don't be stupid in believing otherwise.

So I showed him my power, everything that I was able to conjure. My anger, my jealousy, all of it erupted to fruition and I cared less about the cost to myself. Noble women are expected to tolerate the occasional mistress or random whore; men of rank require the extra bit of stress relief. Another group of people who deserve a sound box about their ears. It's nothing more than hypocrisy. It was beyond time for him to find out what's like to be disgusted and despised.

After I stared down at a beady-eyed oglop, toyed with the thought of squashing him under a table, did I almost faint to the floor like a maid hoping to be rescued by a champion knight. Maid, ha! There were so many nights when I blinked back tears for lost virtue. "Wait for a man of worth," my mother said. "He must earn it and appreciate what you are giving him."

Apologies mother. I threw that away.

There was one problem with what I had done to Cid: it cost all of my magical ability for a time. I had manipulated and contorted a human body, and that spell had left me weak and barely able to saunter away. Running to the broom closet and flying to safety was out of the question. Covered in sweat, trying to catch my breath, I ordered my bags packed and the airship -my airship- to depart Lindblum. I'd return to my parents and let Cid suffer ...for awhile, at least.

Then another nightmare began.

And my heart has never stitched itself back together.

* * *

"Lady Hilda!"

Artania -minister, politician, man of the council- ran down the palace hallway. "Lady Hilda!" he yelled again. He pushed open the cellar doors.

"Who's ill now?" she asked, face shadowed by candlelight. Glass jars of various sizes and colors swarmed her desk, some filled, others empty. Hilda stood on her feet, grinding a strongly scented herb with a mortar and pestle. Lately, in the past few weeks at least, the regent's wife was not her usual self.

Artania answered, "It's Freema. She started running a fever this morning."

A servant girl. "Quarantine her quarters. I'll be up presently." Dried specimens of yarrow, elder, and lime blossoms fell into a straw basket. Fresh garlic came next, followed by a sealed jar occupied by a single leech.

If it hadn't been for her status as a noble, Hilda would've been accused of witchcraft long ago. Well, maybe a few weeks ago. Some citizens still carried their suspicions. Hilda Fabool cast aside her fancy gowns and corsets, instead wore only a simple dress and apron. Blonde hair was kept under control by a snood, and not a fancy veil. The majority of her spare time found itself snared by gardening or organizing plants. She even took in a stray cat to sit by her side in the evenings.

Burnings at the stake had long been outlawed, thankfully. Hangings and beheading were another matter.

The feline indulged in a nap by a sunny window. Hilda gave her a quick scratch before hurrying to the servant quarters.

A red cross marked the young woman's bedchamber. "Freema?" whispered Hilda. She nudged open the chamber door. Two other servant girls stood beside the sickbed, their faces protected by a half-mask. The redhead, Catherine, spoke first.

"Oi! She's getting delirious!"

The blonde, Billie, agreed. "Chills, madam. And then the fever."

Freema, a young woman dark of skin and even darker hair, shivered under two blankets. Every few moments, Billie would sponge her forehead with a damp cloth. Pomanders filled with sweet spices hung about the room to cleanse the air; lanterns gave necessary light. Lady Hilda placed her basket down on the dresser table. "Freema," she said softly. "Have you vomited at all?"

The girl shook her head. "No."

"Any muscle soreness? Headaches?"

"No."

"Then it is in the early stages." Hilda felt along Freema's neck, noticed the red and swollen glands. "I'll perform a simple bloodletting to lower the swelling, then we'll work on your fever."

"So it's plague then?" Catherine shuddered when her mistress opened the leech jar. "Black Death?"

"It's everywhere, Cat; you know that."

Billie quietly folded down her fellow servant's nightshift. "I'll grab a bowl, madam."

"Thank you, dear."

Both of the young women left, Catherine wanting no part of any bloodletting. She decided to fetch some clear broth from the kitchens; Freema required extra fluids to replace those lost by the leech.

Hilda tried to smile, patted her trusted maid on the the hand. "Relax, Freema." Her skin was flushed hot. "We caught it quickly."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Hilda had given Catherine and Billie stern instructions to wake their patient every two hours for a hot cup of yarrow and elderflower tea, followed by several tablespoons of strong garlic juice. "If she begins to vomit or complain of headaches, call for me immediately."

"Yes, madam," they both replied. The leech was back in the jar, fat with sick blood.

Minister Artania met with the lady back in the cellar, the feline still in contented sleep. "We've quarantined the entire servant hall, madam. Will Ms. Freema live?"

"She should," answered Hilda, attempting to rub the stress out of her temples. "Have you closed the borders to the city?"

"We have, madam, though Zidane of Alexandria requests an audience."

Potions and elixirs found themselves placed back on the shelves lining the cellar walls. "Zidane told us in writing that he would bring help, did he not?"

"Yes, madam." Artania breathed in the earthy and herbal scent of the room. "Highly trained. Alexandria only lost a quarter of their population because of this man's expertise."

"Only a quarter?" Hilda gave a short laugh. "I suppose that's better than half. Who is this gentleman? Medicus, doctor, herbalist?" There were distinct differences among the three. One focused on plants and a healthy diet, another prescribed strong laxatives and bloodlet far more than ever necessary and left the victim half dead. The remaining practitioner combined knowledge of the earth with basic white magery.

Artania said, "He's a sorcerer."

Sorcery stood in a class all of its own. "There was only one sorcerer left on Gaia, Artania, and he's dead." Buried in the ruins of the Iifa Tree, or so the legend said.

"All I know, madam," he finally responded, "is what his highness wrote. Weather permitting, they will arrive tomorrow."

Sorcery; men didn't practice the art anymore. Those who did found themselves recorded in the history books. Stories and legends of powerful men abounded the library shelves; the most famous of them all assisted the lost king of Alexandria and his round table of noble knights. As a child, Hilda studied the sorcerer in gray who accompanied a band of warrior dwarves.

As for the most recent sorcerer on record ..."I highly doubt it's pretty boy."

Minister Artania raised an eyebrow. There was a story behind her choice of words, and it promised to be very interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mystic: Writing gives me an excuse to not clean my house. Just thought I'd let you know that._

* * *

**A Garden Full of Secrets**

* * *

When I first met Kuja, I had great difficulty keeping eye contact.

The second nightmare began after my airship was hijacked. I knelt in the chapel before the wooden altar, my fingers shaky around the prayer beads. Don't ask me to remember which eidolon listened to my pleas; my face fought back tears of anger and bitter sadness. It was in the middle of the third decade of prayers when the airship shook violently and knocked me to the ground. Then the force of outside magic hit me in the chest. I was no longer the only mage on board.

A true wise woman would have sealed the chapel door and bunkered down in safety. Not me; oh no. I just had to step outside and come face-to-face with the danger. Steepled hats soon surrounded me and, in instinct, I chanted a quick barrier spell for my personal protection. The creatures were honest black mages, cloaked in mist, golden eyes that stared me down. When one stepped forward, another instinct of mine began.

"Kill," it chanted, arms raised.

" ...I shall live." Every wise woman masters a basic vanish spell. We learn to retract and refract light so to hide our form. Once unseen, we can either move in for a knock-out, or retreat to safety. My plan involved running for the broom closet and flying for my life. Lucky for my people, prayer and meditation can rebuild magical ability.

And it worked ...for a while. I successfully outwitted the creatures in the steepled hats, but they unfortunately did not arrive without a master. This particular person did not bump into me or anything else embarrassing; no, far worse. He all out cancelled my spell!

Well, I suspected it was a 'he'. Codpiece.

...what?

Codpiece.

...why?

Um, where was that broom closet again? First door on the left and -

"Well, well," he said. "Your kind _does_ still exist. And here I thought the history books spoke truth. Silly me."

The aura of magic around him stifled my own. "Whoever you are," I began, willing my voice strong and sure, "you will regret ever stepping foot on board my ship." (Is it any wonder who gave all the speeches to the Lindblum council? Regent Cid builds airships, I dictate laws.)

"Oh, so _you're_ Hildagarde." He barely cracked an eyebrow, just stared at my visible person. I willed myself to stare straight ahead and not let my eyes wander south.

Codpiece.

Ahem.

"Hilda," I answered.

Like it or not, most women have one specific fear when captured by a man. His appearance aside, he'd already proven his worth as a fellow mage. It takes years to cancel another's magic, even longer to bind it completely. I mentally prayed that he didn't have any extra years. My virtue was comprimised enough by an adulterous husband. The last thing I needed was to add sexual assault to the list of traumatizing acts soon to be recited to a therapist.

If I even made it alive to see a therapist.

"My, Lady Hilda," he said, now beginning to circle around me. "You've certainly put a wrench into my plans. Why is noble woman like you traveling about without a male escort?"

Broom closet. If I could just - wait a _minute_. "Where are my attendants?" Elizabeth should have pierced the skies with her screams by now. The girl had a mouth, I'll grant her that.

The mage only shrugged. "Probably caught by my puppets. Oh, well."

Kill, is what those creatures chanted. Kill...

Oh, young Elizabeth. You were supposed to be a bride soon. One of the pilots absolutely adored you. I saw you two dallying about in the gardens beside the palace walls. "How dare you! Leave my ship!" If I am to die, let it be written that I fought my attacker with every last drop of dignity. This wise woman stood her ground. A flame from the sun erupted in my palm.

"If you want to play around, lady, be my guest." He yawned and scraped away dirt from beneath his nails. "But why don't we wait until we land, hm?"

My flame dissolved, but not by my own doing. "Stay away!" I yelled, stepping back.

"I bind you, Lady Hilda."

"...NO!" This man, this mage, young in his appearance, had more years than I thought possible. A sorcerer, I realized too late. No wonder I missed it; he wore no heavy cloak, used no staff to channel his spells. Every ounce of magic in my body became constricted, tight. It was there, but no longer accessible. I began to stagger, a massive headache beginning to form. (A terrible side effect, actually.)

He caught me before I hit the hard floor of the ship. Another one of those steepled hat creatures walked up beside him. "Master?" it questioned.

"Seal off the broom closet," I heard him say before I passed out. "I will not have this one flying off."

"Yes, master Kuja."

* * *

Lady Hilda left the sick chamber of her maidservant. She quietly breathed a sigh of relief; Freema's fever broke in the early hours of the morning. The girl was still weak, still achy, but alive. Billie and Catherine attended to her needs, loyal not only to the regency of Lindblum, but of each other. Once well, all three ladies deserved an extra week to visit family, Hilda decided. Not one person could claim she didn't care about their well-being.

In her own private chambers, Hilda washed her face and hands, then splashed her hair and clothes with a mist of rose-water. Just because she chose to care for the sick did not mean she had to smell or look exhausted. A bit of rouge on the cheeks hid tired paleness. Her guests would simply have to overlook her lack of corset and veil.

Not that Zidane particularly cared for political appearances. More than a few rumors claimed he upset the Alexandrian council in one form or fashion. It gave Hilda a reason to chuckle. Most of the rumors she had heard involved a headache or a whore.

The conference room waited for her presence, and her heart skipped a few beats. Nervousness; why was she nervous? Minister Artania stated a sorcerer was here to aid her in her quest to obliterate the black death. No sorcerer walked the earth anymore, she unfortunately believed. She accepted that fact more than a year ago when Zidane returned from the Iifa Tree, alone.

Song and dance only lifted her spirits when done in her people's language. Or his.

"Zidane is here!" announced Minister Artania. "He's here, madam, and he brought a doctor."

Regent Cid Fabool straightened his posture and brushed dirt off his sleeves. "Doctor who?"

"Story of my childhood," murmured Hilda, claiming her throne. "Unless he wears a bow tie or a striped scarf, I will not be impressed."

"A plague doctor." Artania stood guard beside the heavy door frame.

Cid nodded. "Are those white masks really required? They look like a bird ready to consume your soul."

"You claimed sorcerer, Artania." Hilda took a deep breath, fought the pit of dread that settled in her stomach. "I can sense his aura from beyond the door."

Before either of the two men could respond, Zidane burst through, tail swinging wildly. "Hey, guys! How are things?"

They both put on a false smile. Regent Cid greeted the young king first. "Hello, Zidane. Quite a pleasure to see you again, though not in the best circumstances."

The regent received an odd look of curiosity. "You two receive guests together?" Zidane crossed his arms, tilted his head in thought. "But I heard you guys were -"

"Formality," said Lady Hilda. Her eyes flitted to the doorway; a shadow hovered outside. "Now tell me, good king. Tell me how you convinced my little niece to allow this 'doctor' back in her kingdom."

Zidane went wide-eyed. "Oh, yeah; you're a mage too. You can feel him!"

Hilda nodded, Cid wondered if they ingested wild mushrooms earlier. "Will someone just bring him in, please?" he asked.

The figure that entered the conference room was indeed a plague physician. He wore a solid black cloak, face hidden by the starch white of the mask. Its beak stretched long and thin. A simple black hat completed what Hilda knew was nothing more than a clever disguise. "Hmph, you're actually carrying a staff this time."

Minister Artania took this opportunity to take his necessary leave.

"Regent," greeted the physician. Then he turned toward Lady Hilda, voice noticeably softer. "My lady."

Hilda dropped her head in her hand, muffled a curt chuckle. His _voice_. His voice of all things. Still the same after so long a period. "Zidane, you have no idea _what_ you have done by bringing him here." No white silk, no codpiece, no bare midriff. Only black and covered. "Kindly remove your mask, sorcerer."

Cid saw Zidane stiffen with worry, ignored how his wife extended her hand for a kiss. Formality, of course. Then he saw the flash of silver hair, the soft facial features. "You!" he whispered, harsh.

Lady Hilda accepted the delicate kiss on her hand. "Hello, sweetie."

"_WHAT_ did you just call him?!"

Zidane plunked himself down in a random chair and rested his feet on the table. This promised to be quite the show.

"Oh, relax, Cid." Hilda decided to worry him further and stand straight, inches away from the face of her former warden. "You lost your chance to be a jealous husband a very long time ago."

_"WHAT?!"_

"Welcome to Lindblum, Kuja. You are in my palace now, and you will follow my rules." She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "Break them as you see fit."

Kuja grinned, wry and with a plan. "You look well, lady."

"As do you." Hilda felt the suspicious glare of the regent behind her, which she ignored with great pleasure. "Now, how in the name of sanity were you able to waltz back into Alexandria?"

"I can answer that!" Zidane piped in.

Cid gruffed. "Do tell, _sorcerer_, after you back away several feet." Kuja sent the regent a sharp glare, one that sparked with a spell, but he held back and stepped away from the lady's throne. "Appreciated."

Lady Hilda frowned, shook her head. "What happened, Zidane?" A full goblet of mead seemed rather appropriate.

"Dagger had plague," he said. "Kuja saved her life."

Every person in the room grew quiet, not even the rogue cricket had anything to say. "The little canary almost didn't survive," Kuja said with a shrug. "She's very strong-willed though, and I think that played a part in her recovery."

"You didn't tell us that Garnet was infected," Cid spoke from his throne.

"Because plague comes on quickly," said Hilda. "If you don't catch it that first day -"

" -you're dead," Kuja chuckled. "The canary granted me a full pardon."

"One act of kindness does not make amends for all the torment you caused!" Cid stood now, purposefully in front of his wife.

"Alexandria would have fallen to ruin if it wasn't for my talents, _regent_." He spat it as if an insult. "You wished for a doctor? Well, you have me."

"And for which I am most thankful." Lady Hilda adjusted the straps on her snood, smoothed her skirts, and took the plague mask in her hands. "We have work to do, sweetie; citizens are dying."

"Hilda!" yelled Cid.

Zidane snorted. Dagger would receive some fantastic gossip after he returned home. He watched his brother and Lady Hilda cross the room toward the door. "Stay safe, guys! Don't you catch it!"

"I'm immune," they both responded. Cid slumped his shoulders, and his heart plopped on the floor, twitching.

Hilda gazed at the sorcerer, smiled in a way that might make a girl from Treno rethink her life choices. "I need to gather some supplies first. It's time I showed you my secret garden."

Kuja took back his mask. "Oh? I've always desired to wander inside your secret garden. Maybe plant a seed or two." His smile would have invigorated the most lonely of bachelors.

"Mm, maybe one day you'll witness it bloom."

The pair of mages finally left, and Zidane cackled into laughter. "Who here thinks they _weren't_ talking about an actual garden? HAHAHAHAHA -"

"ZIDANE!" Cid exclaimed.

The young king cracked a grin. "Sorry."

"Follow them!"

"Okay."

Once alone, the aging regent sat back down, rested his chin on his hands, sighing. For the good of the regency and his own blood pressure, the tribunal council needed to finish with their investigation of his marriage.


	3. Chapter 3

_Mystic: Never fear. I haven't forgotten Eiko._

* * *

**Don't Blink**

* * *

Do you remember that ladder of adultery I mentioned? Allow me to explain my personal guilt as I willfully stepped on the bottom rung.

Kuja always treated me with civility, but he also talked quite a bit. I freely admit that he spoke of a horrific nightmare, but you must realize one thing: I did not _see_ any of it. I spent my time in his vast library, or other times in the greenhouse by his cellar. And as strange as it may seem, after he spoke for hours about his own nightmare, he then willfully listened to mine. That mage confused me so much that his supply of white willow bark began to dwindle. For those of you ignorant of white willow (you poor dears), it is a marvelous pain reliever.

I do believe that because of his treatment of me, my perception of him became sort of twisted. Instead of paying attention to the harm he was committing, I found my focus drawn to our own interactions. When all logic dictated that my life be ended, he allowed it to carry on. Kuja, the last sorcerer, the angel of death, allowed a simple wise woman to live.

A clear memory forever lives in my mind; Kuja defended me to Garland. That old geezer wanted me truly dead, considered me a burden, a liability. My gratitude to my warden might have fogged my decision-making, but to this day, I do not really regret my actions. If the facts must be laid upon the table, then let it be known how those actions possibly saved his life.

I gave Kuja a part of me, my essence.

Blood.

Before you say anything of ancient legends or bedtime stories, let me point out that I do not have fangs and I can spend hours in the sunshine without side effects. However, my people have been known to dabble in blood magic from time to time. Well, lots of the time. Moving along.

Now do you understand why a few of my ancestors were burned or beheaded? It's almost a miracle that we survived such fierce persecutions. And it's another reason we now tend to hide away in the forests.

* * *

"Lavender, chamomile, elderflower, purple coneflower, sage ..." Each plant and tree, flower and weed, were healthy and lush in the palace garden. Lady Hilda tended to each one with care by her own hands. In a kingdom surrounded by sick air and disease, the lady's garden stood fresh and clean. Kuja breathed deeply, gave an honest smile.

"Lady, I do believe your garden has surpassed my greenhouse." He ran a palm across the bark of a white willow tree. "Please tell me you have hawthorn."

She handed him a wicker basket. "I have hawthorn." The berries made a wonderful jam for biscuits. Every woman within the Lindblum border kept a family recipe. It strengthened the heart, especially a man's.

"Why did I ever let you go?"

Hilda paused from snipping off the chamomile flowerheads. "Can we not do this now? My husband is inside and most likely sent Zidane to spy on us." A rustle from nearby tree limbs caught her attention, as well as confirmed her suspicions.

Kuja gave an undignified snort. "Yes, lady; tell me how happy you are with your husband and I shall never approach the subject again." After five solid seconds of silence, he grinned. "Now, tell me exactly why your marriage is being investigated by the tribunal court." Another rustle from the same tree broke their exchange.

"Regent Cid wants our marriage dissolved."

"He does or you do?" When Kuja reached out to caress her cheek, every fiber of nerves started to jump like the little child who discovered a hidden treat. This particular treat caused far worse than occasional indigestion. "Like it or not, Lady Hilda, you and I are bound together. It's why I survived."

Willpower made her grasp his wrist. "Show me your eyes, Kuja."

"What?"

"Look at me, sorcerer, and blink. Just once." It was only a quick flash, a mere second of revelation. His eyes, always clear and attentive, turned black with an untapped source. Unless a person was a certified mage, they'd never even notice it. "I'm sure my little niece had some words with you." The faded scar on Hilda's wrist began to throb.

"I believe she was too sick to care."

"Well, it doesn't match your complexion."

"And the dress of a housemaid does not complement who you really are. You should wear the reds and blacks like your ancestors."

She brought him out here to be alone together, not to sass each other with equal wit. "Kuja, what did you expect to happen when you arrived?" When citizens lay ill, the gossip spread worse than the germs. "Do you think I'll just jump into your arms, or let you into my bed?"

Her words, strong in meaning, stopped all attempts at harvesting necessary medicine. "Are there impediments to your marriage?"

"Two," she admitted. Out in the crisp air, Kuja smelled like the monks from her village. Pleasant, strong, a known sage. "Defect of form ...and fraud."

"Fraud?" He queried, a bit wide-eyed. "Ah, his affairs. He never intended to be faithful." After yet another rustle from the tree branches, Kuja took Hilda by the arm and led her further into the garden. "Can you even prove a lie, my lady? The regent will deny it to save face."

Decorum dictated that her arm be linked through his elbow because he was nothing more than a gentleman guest. Kuja waived that away and instead held his arm around her waist. When Hilda refused to move his arm, decorum slowly died at the hands of intrigue and scandal. "Of course I cannot prove it. That is why I'm relying on defect of form. My people have a law against a marriage to a non-mage."

"And how would they respond if they knew you stayed within my palace walls?"

"Kuja..."

"Or that you gave me your own blood -" Her scar continued to throb throughout their conversation.

"Kuja!"

"Do not get cross with me, lady." Their stroll came to a sudden halt. "I'm here because your regency is dying, and another part of me longs dearly for my prisoner."

She stepped back. "Kuja, I have a daughter now." Motherhood, even through adoption, changed her view of certain circumstances.

"Yes, yes; the summoner girl. Zidane tells me you sent her away."

"Eiko is safe in the forests of my people." Any little girl would enjoy the chance to run in the fresh air all day with minimal responsibilities, unlike a noble house with rules and strict manners. As long as Eiko kept her studies steady, her life was hers to live. "I'm sure you noticed, Kuja, but summoners are not immune to plague."

"And where will you go, Hilda, when your marriage is dissolved?" The word 'if' was not really needed.

"I shall return to the forests."

Kuja plucked a poppy flower from the earth, its petals a vivid red. "Or, and you should realize that this is smarter, you can return to me. You and the summoner girl."

If anyone were to peek inside at the lady's heart, they'd lose count at the many scars where it snapped and managed to piece back together. She took the flower and added another scar to her already bruised heart. "My niece might have given you a full pardon, but Eiko never will."

Kuja simply chuckled. "It's not like I have use for eidolons anymore. My power comes from a new source, one that would greatly benefit even her." He stared at Hilda, eyebrows cross. "Why haven't you turned the girl?"

"Because she is a child! It'd do far more harm." Hilda reached up to cup the side of his face. "Please don't make me regret turning you. I'm very shocked that you even took it at all."

"My brother had a reason for climbing out of that tree, and you better believe that I had mine." He took her palm and gave it gentle kiss. "We are bound, lady Hilda, and I will have you back."

More guilt, more regret, would it ever stop?

"We should go to the Industrial District," she said softly. "The plague is most rampant there."

"Look for the red crosses, correct?"

"Yes."

The tension between them would break the sharpest knife owned by any Qu. "You still owe me a kiss, Hilda."

Note to self: do not play a round of cards with a witty sorcerer, especially if he demands the Treno, 'house rules'. "Now is not the time to collect on that debt, sorcerer." The kiss expected was no less than those seen at the doorways of bawdy-houses.

"I understand, lady," he said. "Though, per the rules, I must ask for interest."

She chuckled, fought the strong urge to slap his jaw, but instead reached up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "May that delay proper payment?" she asked.

He gave a gentle nod and, his arm once more about her waist, they left the area.

From his perch in a strong, healthy apple tree, Zidane observed the pair as they collected a few more herbs and flowers. Baskets full, they made their way to the exit toward the Industrial District. The thief plucked an apple, wiped it on his shirt. "Oh, man," he muttered. "Cid is royally screwed, and I don't mean it in the fun way."

"OI! What the hell are you doing up there?!"

Surprised and caught off-balance, Zidane crashed to the ground, the apple plunking him on the head. "Son of a -" An angry redhead stared down at him, not impressed with his status in society or place on the dirt. "You must be Catherine." Late teens, hard-working, and always speaking her mind when nobody asked for it.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She let him sit there, sheepish and embarrassed. "What right do you have to spy on my mistress and the doctor?"

"Regent Cid -"

The maiden scoffed. "Oh, that _man_." She spat it like a four-letter word. "My lady is the one in power around here, did you know that? The regency will come crashing down when she leaves. It almost fell before. And look at you, mister _consort_ of Alexandria. Some king or thief you are." Catherine didn't just run her mouth, she sprinted with it.

Zidane calmly picked up his apple and took a bite. Catherine wore a very nice corset. "Please, continue. This is entertaining."

"I have no idea _what_ that young queen sees in you. What, you go about the world and save it from destruction? Good in bed?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Bite me, monkey boy!"

As she stormed off, Zidane called out, "My queen will get upset if I do!" Queen Garnet, like her aunt, did have a bit of a jealous side. Thankfully, none of her books contained a chant that involved oglops, frogs, or other shameful creatures. Also thankfully, Zidane kept his vows.

* * *

What neither Zidane nor Catherine realized, Regent Cid watched the entire exchange from a window on the north side of the castle walls. His emotions were a jumbled mess of anger, sadness, and a few others that he didn't want to ever admit. He recalled Lady's Hilda anger when he came clean about the affair. She spoke words of vile magic, after giving him a hard slap, then blinked. If an oglop were able to scream, he would have done so, but an oglop has a tiny mouth. But fear seized him; his lovely wife stared him down with black eyes that obviously meant bad things were about to happen.

To this day, he recoiled every time she blinked.


	4. Chapter 4

_Mystic: Kuja's chant in this chapter comes from Loreena McKennit. And my fingers are itching to write something naughty. Have fun._

* * *

**Time for Dancing**

* * *

At one point during our travels together, I might have slept with him.

Please, collect your jaws off of the floor and sweep your minds out of that perverted gutter. If I didn't know any better, I'd think some of you grew up in a bawdy-house surrounded by gamblers and whores. Catherine did, but that is an entirely separate story. Kuja and I did not ...bond through _that_. The temptation to do so was quite high, I admit, but unlike the regent, I know how to keep my feet on the ground. Yes, I know some people are able to perform - you know what? Nevermind.

We didn't.

Moving along.

Kuja, of all people, suffered from vivid and wild dreams that caused him to writhe and break out in cold sweats. He refused to tell me if they were nightmares, but even his precious dragon understood the severity of its master's sleep. They had returned after nearly a month's absence, and Kuja was lost in the torment of his mind. My people call it a night terror. He had fallen asleep on the journey, and that beautiful creature looked to me for guidance. At that point, I was lady of the house. Palace; oh, you understand.

That was the first of many moments when I felt pity for him. The mage didn't even have a childhood to grow and explore. With great difficulty, I managed to calm his subconscious. I compelled him; I had no other choice. He finally drifted into a more peaceful slumber, still nestled on the feathers of his companion, and I collapsed beside him, my magic once again drained. One would think I'd keep a steady supply of ethers around.

Outside in the sun, atop the silver dragon, we slept side by side. At some point in our shared slumber, my head moved to rest on his chest and I clearly felt his arms tight around my waist. Not that it made a corset anymore comfortable. Though, I suspected that he might have loosened the darn thing. It was much easier to take a deep breath when I awoke, eye level with his armor and bare stomach.

It took me a few seconds to recognize my surroundings. For a moment, I truly didn't want to move. Then he breathed, and I remembered.

I sat upright far too quickly. "Ah," I moaned, grabbing my head. "The world spins."

"Isn't it supposed to?"

Kuja stared at me, a sleepy grin on his face like a child refreshed for more playtime. "How long have you been awake?" I questioned.

He yawned. "Mm, long enough to see that you like to cuddle."

"Sorry." You must pardon the fact that I hadn't had a bedpartner in an indecent amount of time.

"Hilda," he said. "What in the name of sanity compelled you to compel me? I was unaware you knew the art."

I let out a sigh. "You were suffering a night terror."

"In the middle of the day?"

"Kuja, what would you rather me do? Let you suffer?"

He shrugged. "You, lady, are a very odd person." Before I could respond, he took me by the waist again and pulled me back down. "I suppose I should thank you. Sleep doesn't come easily for me."

"You're welcome." So he does have a heart. I could feel its steady rhythm beneath his chest. "What do you -?"

"No, Hilda. Just don't."

"Fine, then." We lay there in silence for a while, all sanity gone as we basically cuddled like a pair of lovers out in the open air. "Kuja, is your dragon ...purring?"

The feathers on his beautiful companion matched the ones in his hair. They blended together. "She does that when she's relaxed," he answered.

"...Does she like me?"

Kuja hesitated a brief second. "I believe she's grown fond of you."

That was the first of several instances where we literally slept together. Only sleep and small talk, nothing more. By Shiva's good grace, I never again had to compel his mind into peace. One of his many black mages mentioned that I was the first and only person allowed to stay close to their master while he slept. I found that revelation a bit odd. I'm no fool; I know for certain I'm not the first woman who warmed that sorcerer's bed. He lived in Treno for years. And yet, courtesans aren't exactly known for _sleeping_.

Myself? I haven't achieved a full night's rest since I returned to Lindblum. There isn't a fuzzy tail wrapped around my leg.

* * *

Though she thoroughly enjoyed being in Kuja's presence again, the experience was very humbling. Like it or not (and she really didn't), Kuja would forever be the more powerful of the two. Lady Hilda might have written off certain patients in the Industrial District as too far gone, given them poppy for pain relief until the dreaded inevitable. Kuja though, he always had more than a few tricks up those silk sleeves.

She cornered him outside the home of a very ill child. "You're not turning them, are you?"

"Don't be stupid, lady." He shook a vial of viscous fluid before removing the cork and blowing over the top. "There's quite enough of your kind on Gaia, and I don't believe we need anymore."

Hilda chose to ignore the slight insult. "Then what are you doing?" The Industrial District, usually alive and noisy with workers, stood quiet as disease and death wandered freely in the streets. "What is it that you give them?"

"It's not exactly what I'd call perfect, but over half of the time it's enough." The bright sun gave way to passing clouds, leaving the mages in the cooler shade of the day. "You cannot simply kill off the infection. A patient needs help defending their body from outside forces."

"Coneflower," she mumbled. "Of course! It strengthens resistance to sickness. Kuja, that's brilliant!"

He shrugged. "Astragalus, actually. It comes from Terra."

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"My lady, you're exhausted." Kuja looked at her, flicked back a strand of his hair. "You're not the vibrant female I once knew."

"Well, I wonder why. I'm out among the people during the day and listening to the tribunal court drone on about my marriage in the evening." She glanced out over the buildings, toward the water that surrounded her city. "It's more of a prison now then when I was with you."

"When was the last time you danced?"

By all things holy and pure, do not let that question be a euphemism. "Pardon?"

"You heard me loud and clear."

"Feast of All Souls." One of the many holy days of her people. "You remember."

"Oh, yes," he said. "Our picnic in the ruined cemetary outside of Mount Gulug. The bonfires dotted the rolling hills, and the figures danced around and around." His words were a time-worn chant, written by a long-deceased female mage.

Lady Hilda took the vial of astragalus, let her fingers graze across his. "Any other questions, sorcerer, before we move on to the next house?" Red crosses scattered across the landscape.

Kuja leaned close, eyes burning, smile witty and mischievous. "When was the last time you _really_ danced?" He stood near enough that his robes brushed against her skirts. A stern nun from Esto Gaza caught what he really meant, than smacked it with a rulerstick.

Goosebumps appeared on all exposed flesh. "You're not speaking vertically are you?" No fear as she matched his stare.

"Not unless you are extremely talented." An experienced courtesan would tell them both it's not just about talent, it is also practice.

When a woman breathed, the slight rise and fall acted like hypnosis for a man. Kuja, all-powerful and forever composed, was not immune. "Believe me, Kuja," she whispered, willfully ignoring his lack of steady gaze. "I am quite talented, but I have not danced, truly _danced_, in a very long time." He stiffened, and she chuckled, leaning her lips by his ear. "One of my regrets, when I was nothing more than your ward."

Every drop of blood in his body rose to near boiling. "The interest rate on your debt has risen substantially, Hilda."

"Speak my name again, Kuja, for I'm quite sure that the interest rate is not the only thing that has risen."

So much of the crimson life force in his body, and absolutely none of it went toward the head on his shoulders.

* * *

Zidane clamped his hands over his mouth to keep from laughing and revealing his hiding spot. He crouched on a nearby rooftop. Since his marriage to Garnet, he forgot how much fun it was to spy on another couple and watch what took place. So far, it was sly flirting and sass, but the body language screamed tension of the sexual kind. Zidane had never seen his brother flustered by a woman before.

And another man's wife. Oh, the scandal! Oh, the gossip! Hopefully no other handmaiden would interrupt his voyeur-time. Though, he heard the blonde named Billie was attractive. A married man could still look around as long as he kept his hands to himself. Or, away from himself. Anyway.

He really needed to go home to Garnet. All of this 'watching' was making him a bit feisty.

* * *

When Kuja returned to the palace later that afternoon, Cid quickly cornered him in a quiet hallway. "What is she to you?"

"Excuse me?" The sorcerer tapped his staff against the hard floor. It wouldn't do well if certain people forgot who he was, and intimidation solved that problem very successfully.

"My wife." Cid clearly emphasized the second word.

Kuja's grin created fear in the hearts of so many people over the years. This particular moment proved no exception. "The lovely Hilda?" When the regent nodded, Kuja elaborated in theatric fashion. "My, my; she's a brilliant wise woman, mage, _fantastic_ gardener. Skilled singer, talented dancer; I do think in her younger days she could have been a very popular courtesan." Classy and of high-rank.

"Watch your words, sorcerer."

"Of course, I remember Hilda as a very compliant ward."

That was enough for the regent. He pointed an aged finger in the sorcerer's direction, threatening. "You even so much as try to touch her-"

"Or what?" Kuja said with a sneer. "You don't even want her anymore. Isn't that why your marriage is being investigated?" He stepped around the man, unafraid, unimpressed. "Allow a younger man to waltz in and fill the role she dearly desires."

"So you fancy her?"

Kuja shook his head. "What she and I share is hardly a passing fancy."

"Then what is it?" Curiosity always got the better of him. It's amazing he had any lives left. "Our marriage is not considered null yet."

"That's between myself and her, regent." Kuja left, black robe sweeping the floor as he walked.

* * *

Hilda leaned on the balcony outside her private chambers. A cup of tea rested in her palms, but she didn't dare bring it to her lips. She ordered Billie to stir in an extract of chaste tree, but the herb seemed pointless and almost silly. Chaste tree cooled the blood in the body, namely, the sexual drive. Noblewomen of court took it regularly; noblemen barely knew it existed. Regent Cid took comfort in a harlot, one from the trashy pubs on the outskirts of the city. So many women questioned her upon her return: Did you not take a lover, my lady? Even for one night's revenge?

Catherine, blunt as always, called her stupid right to her face. Now, with Kuja's return, Hilda certainly felt stupid. What did she expect to happen? Would she consider inviting Kuja into her chambers, acting the role of a whore for him in her bed?

Unwanted by a husband, desired by a madman. She tossed the chaste tree concoction into the bushes below.


	5. Chapter 5

_Mystic: Time to bump this up to an M rating. Because I can never write an innocent Kuja/Hilda fic. Something sexual always happens. _

* * *

**A Paid Debt**

* * *

I mentioned to you earlier how my only stories are nothing more than nightmares. Well, that's mostly true. My decisions in life haven't always been ideal. In my youth, I had a slew of suitors following me. Almost every night, a man would arrive at the home of my father and request permission to treat me to dinner and maybe a drink. One such gentleman was a trained blue mage, though he mainly used his abilities for cheap tricks; it impressed women with loose morals and a wild streak.

Actually, it was fairly impressive. Not too shabby for a Treno native. He even remained sober until sundown.

Now is not the time for what ifs; as I write these words, my emotions are a jumbled mix of sorrow, love, and slight pride. You'd be surprised to learn that shame is not a part of it. I made my bed, you must understand, but I refuse to lie in it alone.

* * *

"Catherine!" Lady Hilda knocked repeatedly on the door of her outspoken handmaiden. "Catherine, for Shiva's sake, open the bloody door!" The moons shone bright outside, casting an eerie red and blue light though the palace windows.

"What are you so impatient for?" Poor grammar aside, the maid stood in the servant's quarters, hand cocked on her hip.

Hilda asked a simple question. "Do you still have your mother's clothes?"

"My mother worked in a brothel."

"Yes, my question still stands."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I have a few. Why?"

It wasn't often that the regent's wife shocked the kingdom, but when she did, it left a lasting impression on all witnesses. "I'm sneaking out tonight and I need a disguise," she said with a not-so-innocent smile.

"What sort of disguise?" The last time Catherine saw such a smile, her mother made enough gil to pay for their home twice over.

Voice low, Hilda answered, "Like a whore about to have a very busy evening."

"I'll get the red one." Deep scarlet red: the universal colour of harlotry and whoredom.

"Isn't that one tattered, leaves little to the imagination?"

"Yeah," the maid shrugged.

"Perfect."

The door clicked shut behind them. Not once in her life did Catherine ever suspect she'd 'whore up' the noble Hilda; she thought that part of her past was far behind her. Too young to take part in the business, little Catherine mainly brushed the women's hair and stitched any damaged clothing. Some of the whores doted on the child, others ignored her. On occasions, she gambled with the men and their cards, taking the gil they reserved for women like her mother. But she couldn't really complain about her childhood. She ate well, stayed healthy, and received a basic education. Her virginity, shockingly, was left intact.

The gown Hilda requested was off-the-shoulder, low-cut in the front, and cut high to the thigh. The sleeves were tight against her skin, but slashed along their length to reveal even more of her flesh. Several more horizontal cuts ran along the front of the gown, showing off her stomach and navel. The back was cut in the same fashion, giving a gentleman's eyes and hands a most pleasurable experience. She stared at herself in the mirror, inquisitive. "How do whores style their hair, Cat?"

"They keep it down, mainly." Her fingers tousled her lady's blonde waves. "You know, loose and free."

"Hm, like I've been in bed all night?"

Catherine winked. "You got it."

"Are the high heels truly required?" They weren't too uncomfortable, no more than a usual corset.

"My lady, trust me." She placed a wave of hair across Hilda's collarbone. "If I owned a cock, I'd easily pay two thousand gil for a romp with you."

"...Two ... _two thousand?!"_

The maid laughed. "My mother made almost double that in her prime."

Hilda spoke, incredulous. "Four thousand gil? Honestly? For one night's passion?"

"No..." Catherine trailed, twirling another lock of hair. "Four thousand gil for _each man_."

"Well," said the mage, "clearly I am in the wrong profession." Regret turned sultry and wanted to find a soft bed. "I could have been one, Catherine."

"A prostitute?"

"Courtesan," Hilda clarified. "Mayhap I still can."

* * *

Save for the occasional servant, the west wing of the palace was quiet and, most importantly, private. Minister Artania supplied a room for their guest, the sorcerer, far away from the rest of the household. With her hair down and face well made up with rouge and eyeliner, Hilda was not easily recognizable. She felt like a tart, ready for whatever gift a man could grant, but in a strange way, she also felt rather good. One deep breath later, and she knocked on Kuja's door.

His mind nearly melted. Only sheer willpower kept him from grabbing her and having his way with her body. It was a beautiful body, a coveted hourglass, one that deserved hours of enjoyment. "My, my," he finally said.

Hilda flashed a grin, placing her hand on her hip as she leaned against his door frame. "Eyes front, sweetie."

He wanted to touch her exposed flesh, but feared if he did so, he'd never stop. "Please, lady; do not bother yourself with such a ridiculous request." Rose water and lavender penetrated his senses.

"Come with me," she said.

"I want to," he answered.

She scoffed. "To a night market, Kuja."

Around her throat lay a string of pearls; Kuja envied those jewels. "A night market, you say?" He risked self-control and ran his fingers through her hair. "Am I to see red lanterns and available women advertising their favors?"

"No, but I guarantee you a good time." Boundaries and morals died when the lady grabbed him by his collar and kissed him hard upon his mouth. It was not virginal, it was not proper. The kiss was strong, plenty of movement, her tongue inside and explorative. She tasted wine and fresh fruit, his typical evening meal. His willpower finally caved and fell.

If he even so much as tried to touch her? _-Ha-_ Kuja planned on far more than a simple touch as he ran a palm along her back, bringing her inside his room. He saw her shut the door with her heel, a skill many eager women pick up when propositioned. Their kiss continued, Kuja reciprocating and tugging at the thin fabric of her attire. His hand slipped through one of the slashes along the front, grasping at bare flesh, reaching up toward her chest. "Sweet Hilda," he whispered, eyes heavy with lust. "You have no idea what you just started."

Hilda promised herself that this would end once she kissed him, paid her debt from a gambling loss, but now, as she ran her hands over his shoulders, shuddered and moaned when his lips nipped at her throat, it seemed all manners of self-respect disappeared into a realm of satin sheets and dark rooms. She could hear all the words for women who performed in this way, and when she found herself sandwiched between Kuja and the door, his hands and mouth everywhere her dress would allow, she could almost resign herself to the labels.

Slut, harlot, whore -but sweet Shiva, this sorcerer electrified every nerve in her body. Somewhere in their kiss, when they groped and pawed at each other, he had shrugged out of his shirt. "I've paid my debt to you, sorcerer." Her attempt to catch her breath seemed foolish when she tangled her hands through his hair and pulled him back for another, deeper kiss. There was a hand along her thigh, trailing up to an indecent level.

"And I still demand interest," he said, parting her legs so they wrapped around his hips. She made it so easy; she wore nothing beneath her gown. His hand reached around, grasping at the lean muscle of her rear. "If you wish to stop our little dance, you'd best have a damn good reason." He purposefully rocked his hips, showing her, making her feel how close he was to roughly taking control.

She didn't wish it to stop. She wanted him to tear off her dress and throw her on his bed. Hilda, the respected herbalist, wanted nothing more than to be ravished and possibly bruised. To wake up sore and unable to walk straight. "Take me to the night market, Kuja; I wish to discuss an arrangement with you." Whore seemed more appropriate the more she sighed and let her body writhe.

"We can discuss it here." Between kisses and moans, ripping off clothes and leaving fingerprints on each other's skin.

"No," she protested. "I'm supposed to be at the tribunal court. They'll come searching for me."

He tugged at the front of her gown, exposing her breasts, making her gasp. "Let them discover us. Maybe your husband will learn a thing or two." One hand held her against the wall, the other unbelted his trousers.

"Kuja, please."

"Yes, beg for it." Another kiss, another tug at cumbersome clothes.

Could they be quick enough to avoid confrontation? Would she and Kuja have enough energy afterward to run away into the night? "If you'll join me in the market, I promise you my body there." The sorcerer paused his actions, stared at her, inquisitive. "Not here, Kuja. Not yet."

With great reluctance, he released his hold. Disheveled and breathing heavily, Hilda used the wall to help her stand. "It is what I expected to happen, lady. You in my arms, giving me access to your body."

A quick adjustment to her clothes made her semi-decent. "I realize this, Kuja. I knew good and well that after I gave you my blood, I'd have to give you the rest of me." She watched with great pity as he replaced his shirt. "My palace, my rules."

"You told me to break them."

"You will break them by stealing me away from the court proceedings. Meet me out in the garden."

He caught her by the wrist when she turned to leave. "And how are we supposed to travel to this night market? I'm not riding some rickety broom." However, he'd happily stand on the earth and watch from below as she rode around in the air. At the right angle, naturally.

"And I can't steal another airship." Hilda shifted out of his grip. "Don't you still have your dragon?"

"Her offspring."

"See?" she winked. "It all works out."

A faint growl emanated from his throat. "If it all worked out, you'd be screaming my name and running your nails down my back."

"Won't that leave a scar?"

"Like the one on your wrist?" Check and by all things behind closed doors, hopefully mate. Kuja reached for her once more, kissing tenderly the faded scar. "I desired you long before you gave me a vial of your blood." Goosebumps traveled up her arm. "My mind was unfortunately occupied on other things."

"Oh, Kuja..."

"Shh." This time, his kiss on her lips was softer, fainter. "Leave if you must, and I shall join you in your secret garden."

Lady Hilda, the true mind behind the regency, knew when to speak and when to remain silent. One of her many talents. She toyed with the idea of telling Kuja how rich and moist the soil was in her secret garden, how it was all prepared for proper plowing and watering. And yet, she'd likely end up on her back while he dutifully demonstrated his skills with a hoe.

"Hilda, you're smiling and it's making me quite excited."

* * *

The judges of the tribunal court whispered in concern when Lady Hilda did not arrive for the scheduled proceedings. Catherine poorly tried to hide her smile as she and Billie poured wine for the many gentleman. "That woman is an hour late!" cried one frumpy, overweight man. "Something has happened! Something horrible has happened!"

Catherine snickered and bit her lip. "Relax, you brutes. My lady is perfectly fine." She winked at Billie's questioning stare.

"Then where is she?" asked Regent Cid.

"Out," she answered with a shrug. "Here, have more wine."

"Where's the sorcerer?"

"Dunno. Seriously, drink this."

Minister Artania cleared his throat. "Sir, I saw him earlier in the garden." Hm, how to put this politely. Nope, can't be done. "A whore accompanied him."

Catherine burst out laughing, whispered a few words to her fellow servant. Billie's eyes widened like saucers before she erupted in laughter herself. "Ha, that's brilliant! We've got to tell Freema!"

"I'm right behind you!" Ignoring the stares from the frumpy-dumpy men, they ran down the hall, cackling the entire way.

Cid sighed, but finally sipped the muscadine wine.


	6. Chapter 6

_Mystic: *enter theme for The Tudors here*_

* * *

**The Whispers of the Forest**

* * *

A random person does not simply find the realm of the Blood Mages and stroll inside; they must break the seal that surrounds the area and prove direct lineage. Kuja's latest companion landed with a gentle bounce outside its borders, then flew off with nary a whisper of her feathers. Lady Hilda captured a small firefly in her palms, winked at the sorcerer by her side. "Open the doors to my true home." When Hilda opened her hands again, the firefly glowed crimson, hovered briefly before fluttering away into the shadows.

Kuja adjusted his hat, his clothes gold and purple, watched with an air of curiosity when the shadows shifted their form and became an archway. "Well, that's rather impressive."

The lady took his hand and led him through. "I hope you were paying attention to the spell and not my curves. You're one of us now, Kuja. My convert." Instead of darkness and danger, typical of many forests during the night, a realm of beauty and music appeared before them both. Violins, flutes, drums from troubadors; sweet-smelling foods from open-air ovens. Torches lit the pathways of homes built directly into the trees. Rope ladders and bridges connected the dwellings high above the ground.

He gave a wry smile. "You may have to show me again." The black cloak she wore to keep away the chill did not deter his imagination.

"It's nigh on impossible for a non-mage to enter our realm," she explained, stopping briefly at a bubbling cauldron. An elderly female sat on a nearby rocking chair. Hilda handed her a few gil. "Two please." The old woman acquiesced, ladled out two steaming mugs of the concoction. It smelled of apples and cinnamon, a strong cider laced with a touch of brandy.

"Gratitude," said Kuja.

"Ever wonder why some people claim the forests are haunted?" They walked side-by-side through the village, her arm linked around his. "The seal is fixed, a tapestry between the magical and the mundane. When a non-mage gets too close, they see only the whispers of our realm. Shadows that move, invisible voices, music with no origin."

"And what business do you have at a night market?" A minstrel wandered past, singing a melody about women and their bawdy ways.

"Just a clever play on words, sorcerer. I often come here for supplies; the Lindblum soil isn't rich enough to grow everything that I require." Hilda stopped momentarily, beneath the twin moons. Her fingers grazed Kuja's bare stomach, stared up at him with a smile of debauchery. "Also ...I'm meeting a man."

He scowled. "It'd best be me you're talking about, lady." When she didn't answer, he decided to tease. "And if it's not, for Gaia's sake, allow me to watch and join in the romp."

Four thousand gil ... _per man_. "Kuja!" Flustered, Hilda stepped back. "I did not mean it like that!" Still, eight thousand gil for ... no, nevermind.

"Then elaborate, and please," he said. "Be as explicit as possible."

"The senator has the proof I require so my marriage can be annulled."

It was so far opposite from his hopes that his shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Ah," was all he said.

"Kuja, do you really think I'd find it fun to be passed around and shared by a group of men like I was no more than a flagrin of wine?" She challenged him, stared at him without wavering her voice or stance. "That might have been a night's wages for Catherine's mother, but certainly not me. I promised _you_ my body, no one else."

"I don't share my wine."

"That's right, you just keep it to yourself, drinking your fill."

"Or until I tire of it."

Hilda grabbed him by his buckle, pulling his body flush to hers. "You won't tire of me," she whispered, kissing him hard. A moan escaped him, and she pulled back, triumphant. "My arrangement is _this_, Kuja. I return to your palace as your mistress, your courtesan."

("You wanted a plague doctor? Well, you've got me.")

("Did you think I'd just jump into your arms or let you into my bed?")

That was only this morning. Less than a day after his arrival and they've already proven what Kuja really wanted in Lindblum. "Don't think for a minute, Hilda, that I wouldn't drag you to the nearest dark grove and force myself on you." One such place lay past the vendors peddling their wares. Kuja wrapped his arm about her waist and led her in its direction.

"Cool yourself, sorcerer." Hilda untangled herself from his grasp and attempted to lead him toward the largest home in the realm. "I'm quite sure the senator will allow us use of his spare room."

"No," came Kuja's stern reply. "You've teased me more than enough and I will have your promise fulfilled." He grabbed her wrist as he spoke, stole her back among the shadows, the thickest part of the trees. "Your senator will wait patiently."

She didn't protest, she couldn't. The current actions of Kuja is what she wanted, roughly handled and molested by his body. To have his hands roam over her curves, to have his mouth taste inch after inch of her flesh. While the twin moons casted their light through the grove of leaves, Hilda found herself stripped of her cloak and pushed on her back. Kuja wasted no time pinning her beneath him.

A virgin might have fainted due to his ferocious touch; the gripping, the biting, the suction on her neck; each kiss and grope left her anxious and on a slippery edge. He raised up briefly to tug down the front of her dress, exposing her front and tearing already weakened fabric. His other hand delved between her legs, parting them. Her head cloudy, breath heavy, she barely heard him unclasp his belt buckle.

One day. One stressful, tension-filled day is all that took for Hilda to reach out toward her former warden. Months of sleeping in separate bedchambers in Lindblum left her frustrated, unwanted, underappreciated. Cid's coldness left her hard of heart and bitter. Motherhood to an orphan summoner did little to lift her spirits. Just the one day with Kuja, one day by his side again, made her remember who she was, what she was; more importantly, what she wanted.

Love. Sex. Passion.

Sex.

Desired by a madman. But the desire was real, and it was dangerous.

And that danger made it feel so much better as they tumbled hard and fast on the grass. Each thrust, each slap, each scratch left the mages drenched in sweat and sticky with dirt. The fairies and sprites said to roam the world in the evening hours learned several new techniques. (Very few decided to avert their eyes.)

When a pair of blood mages came together (in more ways than one), the magic conjured by their writhing forms tended to breach the tapestry that hung over the realms. And Kuja, known for his background as a shadow mage, enjoyed the new spells coursing through his veins ...along with making a female moan and squirm. A group of hunters, warriors with no magic anywhere on their person, paused when they stumbled upon a forest clearing lit up by the dual moons.

"Hush, you morons!" One gruff man covered head to toe in grime held up his hand. "Do you hear that?"

His entourage remained quiet. "Is someone ...crying?" one finally asked.

"It's a woman," said the first. "A happy woman."

"Nymphs live here," stated another. "My mother told me stories when I was a lad."

Yet a third gave a rapacious grin. "Maybe we should locate them." It'd be a pleasant change of pace to have a female who knew what she was doing, instead of a terrified maid caught alone without an escort.

The hunters no longer searched for game, but for another form of meat that'd satisfy. Try as they might, they never found the source of the happy woman, only her whispers to the mage who had his way with her.

* * *

Her legs were sore afterward -no, more than that- tired and a bit wobbly, but not near as much as her most intimate of areas. Between her legs, where Kuja took his interest and gave her plenty back, stung with each step and dripped with his essence. She did her best to smooth out her hair and pick out the random leaf or two. "You're such a bastard," she said softly.

"Tell me you didn't enjoy yourself and I'll never lay you again." He pouted when she fixed her dress, fastened her cloak.

"You know I can't say that." His words were a bold-face lie anyway.

"Don't think I'm finished with you either." Kuja reached around, took her by the waist. "Your senator's spare room will see much use from us tonight." Men with magic always recovered more quickly than men who lacked the ancient chants. "You'll return to Lindblum filled with me, covered by my handprints, aching for more and I'll gladly oblige."

Hilda didn't blush, knew for certain that her nights in the palace would be spent in Kuja's bed. They made their way back through the village, past the shops, and toward the senator's home. If anyone suspected why the two emerged from the woods, they never voiced their thoughts, just gave a knowing smile here and there. "And in your palace?"

He caressed her cheek. "Wherever you want, and whenever you want."

She coyly laughed, flexed her wrists. Magic pulsed through her. "I shall hold you to those words, sorcerer." A solid house drew near, built into the thickest tree of the forest. It was split-level and of a comfortable lifestyle. "Now mind your manners."

The wooden door opened before Hilda dared to knock. "Madame Hilda!" exclaimed the older gentleman, hair white and eyes twinkling. "It is always such a pleasure!" He kissed her extended hand. "Do come in and make yourself at home."

"Thank you, sir." Their senator was a husky gentleman, olive-skinned and lover of the arts. Oil paintings of curvaceous, topless women hung on his walls.

"And who's this fine strapping man?" He took Kuja by the hand, shook it vigorously. "My word, he's a sorcerer! Madame, did you finally snare yourself a sorcerer?"

Kuja bowed like he still lived in Treno. "Lord Kuja, sir."

"A noble sorcerer! I bet he has a grand cock on him!"

Hilda pinched the bridge of her nose. "Aaaannnnd, it starts," she mumbled, sitting down.

"You may call me Noel," he said. "I hope you introduced Madame Hilda to your cock. A woman of her beauty doesn't deserve to be standing on her feet all day."

"Oh, not at all," Kuja agreed. "She should be properly kidnapped and ravished 'til dawn."

Hilda sighed, dropped her head in her hand. A servant girl smiled, asked, "Something to drink, madam?"

"Ale if you have it." Kuja _would_ get along famously with the senator of her people. "Gentleman," she said, waving to catch their attention. "Can we kindly not talk about genitalia and get to the matter at hand?"

"But of course, dear." Noel sauntered over to his desk and rummaged through the top drawer. "Let's see, here we are. Written evidence that I denied your claim to marry a non-mage, that you were in no position to wed a pathetic engineer." A thick scroll landed in her lap. "I bet you're in lots of positions with this sorcerer! I always said you had the graces to become the most popular and well-sought after courtesan Gaia laid eyes on."

Kuja nodded, trailed a finger along Hilda's collarbone. "I said that as well, sir. Are you aware that I did kidnap her before?"

The ale was a welcome distraction; Hilda sipped it quickly.

"Sir David asked about you the other day," said Noel. He took a goblet of ale himself. "Word about your annulment spread quicker than a Dali farm girl whose parents are gone for the day."

Hilda's drink paused in mid-air. "Sir David? Really?"

"That blue mage from Treno?" Kuja queried, eyebrow raised. "Tall lanky man, brown hair that tends to -"

"Stick up in all directions? Prefers the auction house?" Hilda nodded. "He used to court me. Before Cid."

The sorcerer gave a hearty laugh. "So _you're_ that sultry blonde who got away. My, my; he talked for hours about you, Hilda. Such a small little world we live in."

Still no blush from the lady. "How is Sir David?"

Noel shrugged. "Quite well, has a slew of bastard children."

"Surprise, surprise," said Kuja.

"His current mistress is very good with them. She's a white mage, very doting." Noel winked. "When she's not playing vixen in his bed."

"Joan," said Kuja. "Sweet girl."

"You met?" asked Hilda, voice suspicious.

Kuja flicked back his hair. "You know I love the auction house." His breath caught in his throat when Hilda untied her cloak, let it fall off her shoulders. Purplish marks, bruises from his teeth, marred the usual soft skin. She uncrossed, then re-crossed her long legs, letting the fabric of her dress slide up her thighs.

Noel grinned very wickedly at his guests interactions. His subjects always appreciated physical interactions, indulged themselves with nary shame nor hesitation. "You two are welcome to stay in my spare chambers for the night." He eyed the serving girl standing quietly in the corner, her small waist and delicate ankles. "I believe I shall retire myself."

"Thank you, sir." Hilda stood and took Kuja by his hand, leading him away to privacy and a soft bed. The door barely clicked shut before he pounced on her again.


	7. Chapter 7

_Mystic: Did I scare you guys off or something? _

* * *

**A Young Ward**

* * *

Even in the guest chambers of the revered senator, the scarlet drapes did not close completely. One ray of sunshine filtered through a tiny sliver where the fabric refused to meet, casted its light into the room and directly into Hilda's eyes. She groaned, achy and exhausted, and rolled over. Her arm hit skin that wasn't her own. Another person shared her pillow.

A tangled mess of silver hair appeared in her groggy line of vision. Kuja lay still on his side, eyes shut in contented sleep; his breath came slow, though steady. Every few seconds his tail twitched against her legs. The room held the odorous remains of perfume, strong wine, and sweat; torn and wrinkled clothes lay scattered on the wooden floor. A pitcher of water sat on an end table. If able, Hilda would sleep away the morning hours, relaxed and satisfied with the circumstances.

Responsibilities in Lindblum prevented her from drifting back into gentle sleep. Plague still ran around in the districts, the tribunal court still expected her attendance. The scroll of evidence sat boldly on the windowsill. She could run though, run away from what everyone expected; the citizens would die and the regency would collapse. Wouldn't that be easier than returning now? It sounded better in her head, anyway, instead of going back to Lindblum as Kuja's whore.

That's what the councilmen and judges might call her, but one snap of Hilda's fingers would set the room aflame and shut their mouths permanently; the lowliest citizen knew that the regent, along with his politicians, feared her abilities and especially her temper. She smiled to herself. Seeing the shock on Cid's face when she admitted her deed with the sorcerer almost made her want to jump out of bed now and rush back to the palace ...if jumping were physically possible. Kuja was ...active, a bit aggressive, but took great pride in seeing her writhe and moan.

How would Catherine put it? Oh, yes: "Some men get off when the woman does." Crude, to be sure, but also highly accurate.

Hilda lost her virginity ages ago, wasted on Cid, a man who didn't appreciate the gift of a woman's virtue. He laughed when she bled, gave her no pity when the pain made her sob. Pleasure and climax seemed nothing short of a fairy tale. For a long time, Hilda regretted turning down Sir David's offer of luxury and comfort as his courtesan.

Kuja's tail quivered on her thighs, and she smiled. _Run away with him_, tempted her inner demon. _Steal away into the night and forever open wide your legs._ Like her former suitor, Kuja offered luxury and companionship, the comfort of a nobleman in exchange for her body. She'd be Kuja's mistress, his plaything, his trophy, and there would be no politics of a regency. _Let it fall, let them die_.

And if Kuja ever died?

Her breath caught in her throat. He was a blood mage; she had turned him. Garland put a limit on his life, but she extended them by a significant amount.

But how much?

Courtesans should not be left alone without a gentleman friend. When a lord or duke died, his courtesan usually transferred to another household of his choosing. If Hilda ran away with Kuja now, she'd resign her life and body to that of eternal night and ecstasy. Or a possible arranged marriage to a noble who liked a wife with previous experience.

_Let Lindblum burn._

Much like the flames of passion that Kuja stirred within her nerves. His tail started to snake up her thigh, his arm trailed around her waist. He cuddled close, buried his face in her neck. It was similar to their nights in his desert home, only back then, they were fully clothed. His chambers in the palace held riches of marble and stained glass. A greenhouse stood in the sunlight, her place of refuge and relaxation. Freedom called out to her, the chance to do as she pleased. No running around the Lindblum districts trying to play nurse.

_May the Black Death triumph_.

* * *

When Kuja finally woke, he found Hilda out of his arms and sitting on the windowsill. She was nude save for the string of pearls that still hung about her neck. Her gaze focused on the landscape, the trees, the occasional farm animal. Sunlight poured over her skin and hair, making them glisten. He gave a lazy grin. "Remind me to thank your senator."

Hilda chuckled, slight and with a plan. "I wish to see Eiko before we leave here."

"As you wish, lady." He shifted, raising up to rest against the headboard.

"Will you truly give her a home in your palace, Kuja?"

"I'll provide her care and an education," he answered. "And when she's of age, I'll marry her off to some rich nobleman."

Another curt chuckle. "He'll have to be a mage."

"There's plenty of those wandering about." Kuja reached for the water pitcher and poured himself a glass. "I'll most likely find one here." A knock resonated on the door, interrupting his train of thought. "Enter," he said.

Hilda didn't bother to cover up. The servant girl from the previous night walked inside, a folded gown in her hands. "Noel thought you'd require a change of clothes, madam."

"Thank you, dear. You may place it on the bed."

For such a young thing, she showed no shock or blush at a naked man and woman. The girl curtsied and left. Kuja said, "Why do I think she serves the senator in ways that go beyond cooking and cleaning?"

"Because she does," said Hilda, matter-of-factly. "Girls know what to expect when they offer their services in Noel's household."

"Hm," the sorcerer mused.

"Don't pity them, Kuja; Noel treats them very well. He even arranges good marriages for them after he's had his fun."

"You obviously never worked here."

Hilda laughed. "No." The sight of him sparked more interest, curiosity. She crawled back on the bed and straddled his hips over the sheet, leaning forward so their foreheads touched. "Tell me, sorcerer. How much have you truly reformed?"

He kissed her. "Enough to take you back."

"So your time in Alexandria saving lives," she said, weaving her fingers through his hair, "along with the life of the queen, was nothing more than an act? A scene from a new play?"

Another kiss, deeper and longer. "Not an act, lady; more like an obstacle."

"An obstacle to what?"

"To you. I cannot freely walk about Gaia without a pardon."

"So. An. Act." His love of theatre and the arts followed him wherever his boots tread. "You even wore proper costume."

"And you're on the wrong side of this bedsheet." Kuja flipped her, pushed away the cotton fabric. He entwined their fingers. "Give me another romp before we leave, Hilda. I want to see you walk into Lindblum covered with my scent."

She wrapped her legs around his waist, eager to waste away the morning. "Oh, Kuja," she moaned. "You just made my decision so much easier."

* * *

Her black cloak matched the new gown from Senator Noel. More modest than the one from Catherine, it still dropped off the shoulders and was lined with a purple corset. Every mark from Kuja lay displayed on her throat and upper chest. What Lady Hilda desired most was a long soak in a hot bath sprinkled with chamomile flowers. Her muscles ached and needed massaged.

Kuja held the scroll of evidence. "Eiko stays with your old tutor, correct?" His back stung from the numerous scratches Hilda left him in the earlier encounter. "Third tree house on the right, past the oratory?"

Hilda stared at him. "I never told you that..."

"Come along then, lady." His grin told a story, a story of secrets and mysteries and more clever acting. He mentally reminded himself to write this all down for future generations.

"Kuja," her voice trailed. Still, she followed him to her childhood tutor's home. "It's several feet off of the ground, sorcerer. Do you wish to use a broom or a rope ladder?"

"Rope ladder," he said quickly. "Ladies first."

An individual who lacked eyesight knew why the sorcerer beckoned his female companion to go on ahead. Kuja did share genetics with Zidane. "Oh, honestly." Hilda pulled herself up, carefully minding the long hem of her gown. Kuja enjoyed the image of her shapely legs.

"MAMA!" yelled an excited young summoner. Eiko bounced on her heels before glomping her mother in a death grip. "Kuja said you wouldn't be here for another week or so."

Arms around her daughter, Hilda turned her head sharply to the man smiling at them from the ground. "Kuja, you lying bastard!"

Eiko erupted into giggles.

One graceful leap, and he joined them on the wooden pathway. "My word, lady; you truly didn't figure it out?" Whenever his eyes twinkled, it meant arrogance and a condescending attitude. "You turned me, gave me your blood. Did you seriously expect that I wouldn't be clever enough to find my way here? How else do you think I learned to master these new powers? Honestly, you were more stressed and exhausted in Lindblum than I thought."

"Is plague still really bad?" asked Eiko.

Kuja nodded. "Terrible."

"And Dagger's all better?"

"The canary is fine."

"Yeah, it's still creepy when you say that."

"Your penmanship is creepy."

More like tilted and crooked and smudged on the parchment. "Kuja, she's left-handed," said Hilda. "Wait ... what is -when-?" The lady looked at the sorcerer and summoner, mouth agape, wondered if she was still asleep in the house of Senator Noel. "How are you two on speaking terms?"

Eiko giggled again, scrambled up the tree trunk and plopped herself on a branch, dangling her legs over the side. "He gave me shell paints for my birthday."

"You mean that art set I saw in your palace?" Hilda asked, still caught in the middle of an odd friendship.

Kuja plucked an apple from an extending branch and wiped it on his cloak. "Better that she draw instead of working on that blasted sampler."

"What? Kuja!" Hilda's hands flew to her hips; her foot tapped menacingly with each raise of her blood pressure. "She needs to learn how to stitch! That's it, where is Miss Rosemary? Miss Rosemary!" She stormed inside the home, nagging clouds and irate thunder claps in her wake.

Her lover and daughter stifled their laughter. "So, why are you guys here early?" Eiko rested her back against the rough trunk.

"Your mother's idea, actually." The apple was sweet, yet slightly tart; a bit like a certain herbalist. "She dragged me here last night."

"Why didn't you visit me last night then?"

" ...We were busy."

"Doing what? ...Nevermind." Those bruises on her mother's throat and collarbone didn't look like they came from a fall or bad burn. "What about the annulment?"

"Senator Noel gave her the evidence she required; it should be granted once we return to Lindblum."

"What about me?"

Kuja tapped his finger against his chin. "I assume your mother will want to clear out the last two districts. Don't hold me to that, however; she was lost in thought this morning." He shrugged. "Either way, we'll retrieve you shortly."

The young summoner sighed. "The regent used to be really nice to mama; you know, after ...everything." Kuja gave an indifferent snort. "But, I don't know, something happened. He just, I don't think he wanted her anymore. It's like he just stopped loving her."

"Oh, Eiko," said Kuja, rolling his eyes. "Tell me you are not that stupid. Do you really think he loved her at all?"

"Well, I don't know. I called him father once."

"Child," he stated. "It's time you realized, like it or not, that the traditional family unit will forever be mother and child. Fathers die in war, or find comfort in other women. They will not always be around to protect what is their own. Far too many cast aside their responsibilities."

She blew a raspberry. "Zidane said something like that too, only, not as fancy."

"The truth can be very blunt and hurtful. You best get used to it."


	8. Chapter 8

_Mystic: Hilda has a dark side, and I like writing it._

* * *

**Coffee, Tea, Or...?**

* * *

Regent Cid did not sleep very well. He spent half of the night either tossing and turning in his bed, or pacing the floor outside his chambers. His curious side wanted to demand a search of the sorcerer's quarters, but his cautious side feared that each belonging burned with magic that would leave an innocent servant in the infirmary. Maybe visit Hilda...?

...No.

Just, no. Going to her chambers would likely end with a slap to his face or hot cup of tea down his lap. If she was even there ...no, stop. Cid did not, did _not_ want to entertain the possibility that his wife -well, kinda wife- might be out and about with the plague doctor. The citizens relied on her; he relied on her. The regent suddenly felt very nauseaus. "A whore accompanied him," Artania had said.

After the pub incident, Lady Hilda placed a ban on prostitution in the city districts. Men, pimps, and madams faced arrest and heavy financial fines, while the women themselves traveled to a convent for rehabilitation and counseling. The written edict was heavily ignored, as sex for sale went underground in Lindblum. When Cid questioned his trusted advisor on the whore's appearance, all Artania said was, "Blonde. Pretty."

Visitors from all over the continent described Hilda as a 'pretty blonde'. She was his pride so many years ago.

Groggy, sleep-deprived, stressed to the point of suffering a stroke, Regent Cid stumbled into the dining hall for the morning meal. Sitting calmly near the end, legs crossed and hair brushed, sat Lady Hilda. Beside her sat _that_ man, laid back in his chair with his arm over his eyes. He mumbled something along the lines of, "...too early and better coffee..." Hilda chuckled lightly, gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow.

It had been months since Cid saw his wife with her hair down, the strands cascading over her shoulders. He plopped down in his chair at the head of the table, poured himself a mug of hot coffee. "Where were you, Hilda?"

"Oh, good morning to you too, sugar cup." She glared at him, baiting him.

Kuja muttered, "Yes, it is." He reached for his cup of coffee. "I don't know about you, regent, but I slept beautifully last night. Never before have I awakened so refreshed."

"Hilda," said Cid. "Please tell me where you were." A pit of dread settled in his stomach.

Her grin turned dark. "Out."

"Did you have an escort?"

"Of course I did." Green eyes flickered toward the silver-haired mage sipping his tea.

Dread turned to anxiety. "What were you doing?"

If Hilda's smile was dark and grim, then Kuja's went down the rabbit hole and emerged from the other side. "Once again, _sir_." The sorcerer had the amazing ability to make a title of respect sound like an insult to the male genitalia. "I do believe that is between myself and the lovely Lady Hilda."

Regent Cid abruptly stood, hands slamming down on the table. "I told you -!"

The mages were on their feet just as quickly; Kuja's palm outstretched and sparking with a thunder spell, but Hilda grabbed his fingers to neutralize the chant. "I'm not your wife, Cid!"

"You are until the judges declare otherwise!"

Kuja blinked. Every lantern in the room shattered, glass raining down on the floor and furniture. He wrenched free from Hilda's grip. "Raise your voice to her again, regent. I dare you."

Unless a person trained in the magical arts, they'd miss the black eyes of the blood mage. Or ...unless the blood mage specifically meant for the victim to see it. Cid recoiled in his chair when not one, but two pairs of black eyes stared at him. "Hilda, please," he said, voice much quieter. "You are still a part of this household."

"And I can destroy this household with one snap of my fingers. You realize that, do you not?" The air in the room stank of powerful magic, heavy on the heart, crushing on the soul. "Are you so jealous that I spent my night with Kuja, caught up in his arms and writhing in his bed?" Cid gripped the armrests so tight his knuckles turned white.

"Hilda, " he choked. "How could you?"

"How could I?" she teased. "How_ could_ I? I _could_ have been a courtesan, Cid; lived a life in comfort and luxury; been a mother to a few illegitimate children, but instead, I married you. You, Cid, a man incapable of fathering children. Your seed is rot!"

At her final word, the lanterns burst high with orange flame. Even Kuja stood back in amazement, then wrapped an arm around her waist. "Well-played, lady, but could you tone it down a touch? The guards will blame me for this."

"So destroy them," she said without hesitation. "Let the regency fall."

"Hilda!" pleaded Cid.

"And here's your evidence." She all but threw him the parchment scroll. "If I had known that you'd want our union annulled, I'd have stayed with him and let you remain a wart-covered toad." Another blink, and her eyes returned to their usual color. "Do not search for me. Ever."

Cid glanced back and forth between the mages, breathed hard. "And Eiko? What of her?"

"She stays with me, her mother."

"Where?"

"That's no longer your concern. I'm not your wife."

Kuja chuckled, grim and amused. His eyes back to their lighter hue. "This entire scene will make a grand opera, don't you think? And the only happy endings are the ones in bed." His laugh grew louder, a bit maniacal; he started to sound like his old self from previous years. "Are we to go out among the people again and save some lives?"

"No." Hilda tossed back her hair, and Cid saw every single bruise along her neck.

"No?" Kuja asked, hardly surprised. "You wish to turn your back on the people and let the black death swarm the streets?"

Her smile was the opposite of happy and pure. "Precisely, and tonight, like last night, I shall have my back turned to you." She caressed his cheek, then left the dining hall in uncomfortable silence.

Cid nearly lost all the contents of his stomach. "You corrupted her, sorcerer."

"Hardly." Kuja finished the remains of his morning beverage. "You corrupted her; I just took advantage of it and made it better."

* * *

Not completely heartless to the plight of the people, Lady Hilda did stop by the servant quarters to check in on Freema. The maid still rested in bed, but sat upright with a book on her lap. A mug of warm tea nestled in her palms. "Hello, milady," she grinned. "Catherine and Billie told me all about your fun yesterday evening."

Hilda returned the smile, moved to sit on the corner of the bed. "You look well, Freema." Slightly pale, with dark circles under her eyes, but better than expected.

"I feel well. A bit fatigued, but well."

"That's very good."

Behind her drink, Freema arched an eyebrow. "So, tell me about the sorcerer. And don't leave out a single detail."

"That's part of the reason I'm here, Freema. You, along with Billie and Catherine, have served me loyally for many years." Hilda reached out to touch the girl's hand. "I wish to grant you ladies freedom."

"Yes, yes; that's very nice, but I want to hear about the sorcerer."

"Freema!" Hilda attempted to scold her, but she burst into an immature giggle. "Alright, let me find the other two and we shall sit down together for some girl talk."

Freema beamed. "Brillliant."

* * *

" ...and that's what he has beneath his codpiece." The three maidens giggled like schoolgirls who first saw the word 'penis' carved in a desk. Well, except Catherine, who laughed the loudest and almost squirted water from her nose. She grew up seeing not just words for certain body parts, but crudely drawn pictures.

"Is it pierced?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Hilda nearly fell out of her chair. They were all crowded in Freema's chambers, discussing things no proper woman ever wanted to think about. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Is it pierced?"

Billie sometimes wondered about her friend and fellow servant. "You can pierce that?"

"Duh! In ye olden days, many men of magic pierced their genitals." Catherine spoke very calmly, with an air of professionalism. "It's supposed to increase their prowess, or, so my mother said."

"No, he ... it's not."

"Has he thought about it?"

"Kuja never discussed that." Girl talk was quickly making its way down the gutter to set up a shop that charged fifty gil for a kiss. "Listen, ladies; you three are young and smart, and I'd rather not see you waste your remaining years in these palace walls. Freema, I know you have magic in you, white magic. There's an academy nearby; I can pay your tuition if you like."

The girl smiled. "Many of my ancestors were mages."

"I'll write your mother -"

"Please don't." Freema's smile disappeared quickly. "This senator of yours, is he hiring?"

Catherine choked on her drink. "I thought you must be a trained mage."

"You do," said Hilda. "Freema, just wait a minute."

"You said he arranges good marriages, did you not?"

"In exchange for your virtue."

Billie mumbled, "High price."

"My virtue was stolen from me a long time ago." Freema dropped her gaze into her lap, fidgeted her hands. The memory no longer haunted her, but every so often, she'd recall the rough hands clamping over her mouth, dragging her behind a rowdy tavern, ripping down her dress. In that part of Lindblum, no one cared that a maid screamed. "It's why I don't travel alone anymore."

"Oh, honey..." Hilda took her hands, squeezed them gently. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Freema breathed. "It was a long time ago, before my mother sent me here. She ordered me not to come back home unless I found a husband and, because I've been 'soiled', she doesn't believe I'll find one at all."

"She sounds like a bitch," piped Catherine. "What mother tosses her daughter out because of a rape?"

"My lady, please?" asked Freema again. "Can I not work and study in your village?"

Hilda nodded. "Alright, I will see what I can do." The smile returned. "Billie, Catherine? What of you two?"

Catherine shrugged. "I'll probably return home. Mom's living comfortably outside of the city."

"Didn't she retire a few years ago?" Billie queried.

"Yeah, she's set. There's a savings account with my name on it. She never squandered her earnings."

"Then why are you here?"

"Eh, I don't think mom wanted me to follow in her footsteps." Catherine stared off for a moment. "A few of her clients propositioned me as I got older and filled out."

"Mm," agreed Hilda. "Prostitution is technically illegal here."

Billie said, "You know, there's an entire underground sex ring -"

"I know, I know." If anyone asked, the men were just purchasing drinks for the women. "Don't you think you should return home to your father?"

Billie nodded. "I should, but..." She trailed off.

Hilda pressed on. "Yes?"

"I'd like to get married, too."

Unlike Freema, Billie held no magic in her blood. "Billie, I'm sure your father can find a good man."

The girl twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "I ... well, I ...might have my eye on a bloke here." Pause. "Not Cid!" Because that'd be gross and wrong and incur her lady's wrath.

"It's Artania, right?" Catherine laughed and almost slid from the bed.

"Shush!"

Hilda sighed, but smiled at her loyal servants. "I shall speak to him on your behalf."

"Okay!"

Girl talk: the never-ending saga of women discussing men, love, and life, complete with laughs and a few tears. In a few more years, Eiko will be old enough to join the conversation.


	9. Chapter 9

_Mystic: Anyone care to guess where I achieved inspiration for Sir David?_

* * *

**A Night in Treno**

* * *

For the Lindblum citizens, the story of Lady Hilda's sudden departure was stated as such: "Lady Hilda entered into matrimony with Regent Cid unlawfully and has decided to return to the land of her birth. We, the tribunal court, have rendered their marriage null and void."

Very few of the citizens were healthy enough to even care about the "official" statement and its flippant accuracy. Through their hacking coughs and burning fevers, they saw a silver dragon soar over the city and its quarantined gates. Parents told the children it was nothing more than a hallucination, but grew concerned as to why their beloved lady did not return to their homes to offer some resources of healing before leaving Lindblum for good. Death laughed quite heartily and grabbed his trusted scythe.

The tribunal judges shook their heads and crossed their arms when Hilda left with the sorcerer. To them, she played the whore and ran from her responsibilities to the people. The lady blew them a kiss and set their papers aflame. Freema, now healthy enough to travel, accompanied the two mages.

Catherine and Billie waved goodbye from one of the castle's balconies. The latter was not aware, but Minister Artania watched her from a separate window. She turned to collect her belongings, while Catherine searched for her playing cards. If she were to visit her mother, chances were high that she'd run into some past clients. (And a good gamble seemed like fun!)

But before Kuja and Hilda returned to the realm of blood mages to retrieve young Eiko, the sorcerer wished to make a stop in his former Treno residence. Very much smaller than the desert palace, but very much equal in its elegance and grandeur. It stood behind the auction house, the very epitome of noble living and exciting evenings.

Freema stood in the doorway, her mouth agape. "Wow," was all she said. Hilda's cat barely yawned, curled itself on a sofa cushion.

"Remain here for the time being," ordered Kuja. "I'm meeting an old friend and need Hilda to accompany me. Lady, do change into something enticing and seductive."

"So, you want me to stay here by myself?" the girl asked. "In this part of Treno?"

Hilda made her way to the main bedchamber. "Honey, you'll be fine. Lock the doors and don't answer for anyone."

"We can seal it with a spell if you're that terrified." Kuja whispered a chant, sending the lanterns aflame in the hall.

Animal-skin furniture decorated the living areas. Freema took a seat on a striped sofa. "What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't care what you do, personally. Don't leave a mess is all I ask." He required a hat for a night in Treno. Something black and with a feather. Or maybe beads. "There's a wine cellar downstairs, too. My supply might be low, but -" Freema ran so quickly down the steps that Kuja almost saw a trail of fire following the maid. "Well," he huffed. "I hope she cleans up after herself. Lady, are you enticing and seductive yet?"

"Kuja," said Hilda from behind his bedchamber door. "Why do you own fish net stockings?"

"Oh, good! You found them for me!"

His door swung open, and his breath caught in his throat. Scantily clad and with a grin that promised an evening of fun, soreness, and shame from those uninhibited, Lady Hilda stared him down. "I'm wearing them, sweetie."

* * *

The majority of the time, Treno's nightlife boasted the most talented of singers, both operatic and classical. Voices from all over Gaia traveled to the dark city to make it big and possibly score a good time from the numerous courtesans or prostitutes. _"Every night I see you, I hear you, I feeeeeeellll yooouuuu."_

Clearly, this particular nightclub was not one of those lucky arenas.

_"That is how I know yooooouuuu gooo oooonnnnn..."_

The guilty party was very much drunk.

_"Neeaaaar faaaaarrr, where eeeeevveeeerrr you aaaaarre!"_

No, no; scratch that. He was **_drunk_** drunk. As in, "wow! I just invented a new party drink with a banana!" drunk.

_"And I know that my heart wiiiillll goooo ooooonnn aaaannnnd ooonnnn!"_

Please, for the sake of all things pure and holy, do not ask where this particular patron found his banana. Rumors circulated that his pants were somehow bigger on the inside.

"Well, look what the chocobo dragged in," said Lady Hilda, eyebrow raised and hand tucked under her chin. "The oncoming storm."

Kuja leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink. "Oh, so he didn't lie about that." Shrug. "Interesting."

"My gawd," said the drunk patron. "The people of Treno certainly know how to throw a party. I think ... I think, I just invented a new drink. The banana daiquari. Always take a banana to a party." He spoke quickly and, when really excited, his voice sometimes squeaked. "Ah, hello again, Lady Hilda. Lovely seeing you again. Bananas are good. Bananas are really, really good." He threw an arm over her shoulder and kissed her cheek before she or Kuja could do anything about it.

Like Kuja, this patron was quite well-known and often seen with an attractive women on his arm. Unlike Kuja, this patron did not always know when to 'say when'. The sorcerer swirled his drink. "David, your tie is on your head."

He was a lanky gentleman, angled features, with brown hair that stuck up in several directions. Sideburns decorated the side of his head down almost to his chin. Usually seen in a pinstripe blue suit and red tie that usually hung around the neck, the mage now wore the accessory tied on his forehead. "It's a new style, Lord Kuja. Do you like it?" He plunked himself down at their table, across from Kuja, smiled very cheerily at his companion. "How are ya, Hilda?"

She stared at Kuja for a moment, before stifling a laugh behind her hand. "Much better as of late."

"Yes, yes; an annulled marriage, bedding Kuja, adopting a summoner. It's all very sexy. That's sexxxaaayyy..." David, though drunk, still spoke with clarity. He tried to reach for the pitcher of strong drink in the middle of the table, but Kuja slapped at his wrist. "Ah, hey!"

"Oh, no you don't." Kuja gazed about the ballroom. "We need to find Mistress Joan."

"No, no; not her." David slumped in his seat like a child avoiding eye contact with his parents because said child might have committed a horrible act to a fountain. "Joan takes away my fun. She treats me like a child, worse than my own children. Well, they are cute -_well_, they take after me -_well_, she does love them a lot -" As he rambled, his unfortunate victims decided to scan the area for any residual evidence of white magery. "Oh, look. I have portraits of the bastards in my wallet. Here, let me show -"

"DAVID!" came a shrill, high-pitched voice. "DAVID, YOU INCONSIDERATE FOOL!"

"Oh, now I'm in court." He dropped his head on the table.

Kuja smiled politely and waved his hand. "He's over here, mistress."

Joan was slim, pale-faced, with very light features. A white mage since childhood, she found a position of worth in the household of Treno nobleman, but always offered more than simple cures. Like other mistresses and women of nightfall, her gown cut low and showed ample skin. She marched straight over to the blue mage and slapped him hard across the face. "That should sober you, David."

He grimaced, blinked, and plopped her on his lap. "Thank you, Joan."

"Lord Kuja," she said, extending her hand for a kiss. "Always a pleasure to be in your company. And your lovely guest?"

"Mistress Hilda." Kuja brushed a few strands of blonde hair over her shoulder. "The former lady of Lindblum."

David grinned like he just found a new best friend to play with him. "Yes, yes; the regent is surely ashamed of himself for letting a ripe tart slip away. My lady, what made you accept Kuja's offer of infinite joys in the bedchamber and not mine? Should I have hijacked your airship?" His speech, quick and random, could never be described as shy. Joan only rolled her eyes; another slap might excite him too much.

"Sir David," mused Hilda, leaning forward to pat his arm. "Kuja, you must understand, has a bigger cock."

Joan tossed her head back in giddy laughter. Kuja smiled wryly behind his glass, resting a hand on her thigh, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "You never told me you saw his cock, lady." There was no jealousy in his voice, only amusement.

"Hilda was always a bit of a voyeur in our youth." David accepted a glass of water, drank it rather rudely. "We used to take a stroll beside this waterfall in the evenings and -_wait_, did you just say _his_ was bigger?"

"Yes, I did," said Hilda.

"Well," David sniffed, not missing an opportunity. "Joan has perkier breasts."

That earned the second slap, though on his chest instead of his face. "You be good," Joan scolded. "I cannot be too much longer anyway. You have a fountain to clean and I need to be near Joshua. He's ill."

"Oh, it's just a child's cough. He's with his older sisters and my mother is right next door."

"He's a little boy, David." For a woman who never birthed children, Joan took very well to David's slew of illegitimate ones. She showed his daughters how to braid hair and cook a meal, then convinced David to take his bastard heir on a fox hunt. The lad came home grimy and proud; he shot an owl because he inherited his father's bad aim.

Lady Hilda leaned into Kuja, whispered in his ear, "I like her."

Kuja agreed. "She does put him in his place." Many men liked a feisty mistress, a woman who spoke without hesitation, challenged his mind with thorough arguments; it made the eventual chase and capture more intense and satisfying. He wrapped an arm around her waist and moved her on his lap, ran a finger along her collarbone. "A bit similar to how I put you in yours."

"My place is in your bed, Kuja."

"And anywhere else I so choose." His finger trailed down, played along her bodice. "Eventually you'll quicken with my seed and I'll have my own heir or heiress."

"Any children I bear now will be bastards."

"My bastards."

"And Eiko?"

"A ward for whom I provide care."

Hilda chuckled, kissed his cheek. "Be a good nobleman and buy your lover and friends a round of shots."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed David. "Citrus drops or three wise dwarves if you don't mind."

"No." Joan slapped his hand like a nun from Esto Gaza. "You are to remain dry the remainder of the evening."

"But-"

"I said no."

Kuja kissed Hilda's hand, stood from the table. "I'll retrieve a virgin for him."

"Isn't virgin arbitrary anyway? The first time was aaaaaaggggeeessss ago." David watched the sorcerer walk off toward the bartender in a tuxedo and funny hat. "Let's trade stories, ladies?"

Hilda grimaced. "Mine's rather depressing. Moving along."

"Oh, right. Cid. Blah. His cock is probably all shriveled up and hanging to the left side."

"Right side," she answered.

Joan stifled a laugh. "If it's any better, my first lover was a noble red mage. He even serenaded me with a guitar."

"I need to find a guitar," said David.

"That involves you singing." Joan shook her head. "Please don't."

"Yes," agreed Hilda, recalling only moments ago his drunk attempt at the love song from a disastrous opera. "Do tell, David. Your first lover: was it Celeste?"

"The dark-haired beauty who lived next door to me? No, her sister."

"You fool. Her sister was an utter moron."

"Well, yes; but she put out."

Kuja returned at an interesting point of the conversation. "Are you talking about Celeste's sister?" He placed the shots in the middle of the table, handed Sir David a glass of soda water. "That young lady wasted every ounce of magic inherited in her blood." As well as her reputation.

"Don't tell me Celeste's sister mothered one of your children." Hilda felt a pang of jealousy over her lack of birth after years of marriage, unhappy it might have been.

Joan snorted. "Birthed, yes; but that girl had no idea what to do with a babe."

"Oh, good Shiva."

David shrugged. "Well, it's not like I planned it. She took off and left me with my daughter. Can you believe it? What do I know about raising children?" He slapped a small portrait on the table, gave another cheeky grin. "But she looks like me. I hired a wet-nurse for a while."

"Who later gave birth to your second daughter," said Joan.

Kuja scowled. "Goodness, David, you're quite careless."

"Well, I had fun -_well_, and started a family -_well_, illegitimate -_well_ ..."

"Shush, now." Joan ruffled his hair. "Finish your water and we'll go check on Joshua's cough."

"It's _nothing_, Joan."

"I said shush, Mr. Ten-inch."

Hilda chose the wrong moment to swallow her shot of drink.

Kuja grinned; his was bigger.


	10. Chapter 10

_Mystic: More fun with dialogue and character development. Yay!_

* * *

**The Convert and his Mistress**

* * *

"You converted him," said Joan to Lady Hilda. The women stood outside in the fresh, cool air of night, stars overhead to light their path, while their men stayed inside to take care of the tab and David's run-in with the fountain from earlier.

Hilda smiled softly, lifted the sleeve of her gown, showing David's mistress the faded and raised scar. "All it takes is a small amount," she said. "It was much more noticeable until I lay with him. Once we came together, the actual healing began."

"So, from what you're saying," Joan realised, "is sex heals the scars of blood magic."

"Correct." Citizens and tourists strolled about the dark streets. Couples paired off for late-night drinks or other forms of satisfaction in one of Treno's many inns or brothels. Two females in revealing attire conversing with each other was nothing unusual. "The moment he drank my blood, we became bound together."

"Through sex?"

"It's the strongest bond a man and woman can have, is it not?"

Joan was silent, thinking, a knowing grin on her face. "The most fun, at least. How does conversion work?"

"You have to die." Lady Hilda gazed out over the city, breathing in the air of alcohol and perfume. "The blood lies dormant in the body until the heart stops. Once that final breath ceases, new blood regenerates the organs and rebalances the humours. With one slight physical change, of course."

"The black eyes."

"For Kuja, I'm fairly certain he turned in the Iifa Tree." Resting her shoulders against the building, she continued, "If I had known better, I'd have been there to assist his conversion. It's not necessarily pretty or painless."

Joan said, "I've heard the legends." Not only the organs and humours, but the very soul of an individual changed. "Are you for certain that you can keep him under control?"

Hilda grinned, mischievous. "Well, I know one way." And that one certain act kept men in line since the dawn of time itself. Patriarchs and kings ruled society, but their women controlled their very lives. "Tell me, Joan, if you don't mind me asking. Joshua's mother, you never spoke her name."

"Because David never told me," the white mage answered with a brief shrug. "From my understanding, the girl was young and didn't survive the birth. I'm the only mother that boy has ever known."

"Oh," said Hilda, softly. "My apologies."

"I do care for David, and his children are absolutely wonderful." Her tone was nostalgic and warm, friendly. "Despite my years as a courtesan, I've never quickened with a man's seed. I fear this is my only chance to be a mother."

"I can give you a fertility tonic." A simple combination of red raspberry leaf, wild yam, and yarrow regulated the feminine form and improved the reproductive area.

Joan shook her head. "I've tried them all, Hilda."

"We blood mages have a stronger recipe. I'll send you the spell." It involved several cups of tea, massage, and clay moulded in the shape of a man's special part. "Guaranteed to bring on a birth if the problem is within the woman."

"Do you plan on bearing children?"

"I've always wanted too, and Kuja's not opposed."

Every woman discussed childbirth and children at some point in their lives. For a valid wife in a happy marriage, the subject brought giddiness and surprise parties by equally giddy friends and relatives. For unhappy wives or destitute street-walkers, the situation turned more grim and required avoidence like the plague itself. Preventative measures often failed, and did more harm than any good at all. But then there were the courtesans or mistresses, 'wives of night' by local terms. Pregnancy was indeed a natural occurence, but the child was welcomed and given care. Often times, a birth meant the woman was healthy and skilled at her profession.

The ladies, deep in conversation, missed the sound of their men stepping outside to join them. "Oh, now; that's not right." Sir David rested an elbow on Kuja's shoulder; the sorcerer quickly pushed it off. "They're just standing there talking. They're supposed to be pawing at each other and telling us we can't join."

Kuja stepped a few inches away from the blue mage. "My word, I forgot how strange you were."

"_I'm_ strange? Have you looked at yourself in a mirror, Lord Kuja?"

"Quirky, then."

"There's a pot and kettle laughing at you right now."

Joan sighed. "David's been howling at that tree for years. I'm not that type of courtesan."

"Really?" queried Hilda, eyebrow raised. "Years before I ran away with the regent, I snuck into my tutor's stash of brandy with a fellow female student." Both Kuja and David hushed their argument, listened intently. "Things happened and we woke up in the next morning unaware, hung over, but strangely happy in Miss Rosemary's bed."

Of all the stories Lady Hilda spoke, this seemed the most promising. Kuja waltzed over, pulled her very close. "Dear lady, why don't we return to my home where you can tell me all about it."

"Please, it's hardly anything interesting."

"On the contrary," said Kuja. "This intrigues me greatly. So kindly be very specific and use as much detail as possible."

Sir David slumped against his mistress. "Oh, that's not fair."

"Alright, time to get you home and check on your son." Joan smacked his rear. "Write to me, Mistress Hilda?"

"Absolutely." Hilda gave a wave before her noble sorcerer ushered her to his place of residence.

* * *

It was a very strange phenomenon, Hilda concluded. She knew that Kuja enjoyed making up for time lost, taking his fill of her body whenever he gained the chance, but as she lay on his bed, out of breath and sore in various places, she realized he enjoyed the thought of her with another woman, even if under the influence. Most men harbored the same fascination, didn't they? For whatever odd reason?

Equally breathless and dripping in sweat, Kuja rolled over to face her. "Any chance you'd see this student again?" His tail quivered along her thigh.

"You are such a bastard." It was meant as an insult, but she could not prevent a chuckle from breaking through. "She's married now."

"To a gentleman?"

"Yes, to a gentleman."

Another moment of thought. "Do they live in the realm?"

"Yes." His expression at her response almost warranted her rolling over and faking sleep - and she _never_ faked anything in Kuja's bed. "Please, Kuja, get whatever perverse thought out of your head. Technically, what she and I did was illegal."

"Well, well; I wasn't aware your kind still kept that law in place." Which highly surprised him considering the blood mage viewpoint of sexuality and virginity. More liberal than most cultures, double standards between men and women were non-existant, but even they made certain laws of what can and cannot be done.

"Of course we do," she said, rather incredulous. "We were the first people to make that law."

"Mm," he mused. "Is there any other rule I should be aware of? Something I might have missed during my conversion?"

Normally, Lady Hilda would bring forth colorful language and dance around with euphemisms, twirl with them even. Since she and Kuja crossed that line and never looked back due to horizontal activity, she decided it best to be blunt. "The man is not permitted to spill his seed outside of the woman."

Kuja raised up, propped himself on his elbows. "Honestly?"

"Old-fashioned, but we hold to it."

"Hmph, Miss Rosemary failed to mention that."

"She's been a widow for years," Hilda said with a yawn. "Are we quite through with the pillow talk now?"

"Quite." Kuja owned very soft and luxurious pillows. When sleep eluded him, he hired a maid to sew hops or lavender in the cushions. "But don't be foolish into thinking I'm ready for sleep." With Hilda in his home, no other woman would ever sew anything for him again. His hand smoothed down her stomach, slick with sweat, began to graze another very slick area.

His touch still stung despite his gentleness. "If I were a flagrin of wine, sorcerer," said Hilda, her hand tangled in his hair, "you'd be constantly stumbling around and dizzy because of your wanton needs." Her kiss tasted sweet and salty as it traveled along the skin of his jaw and throat.

He entered her swiftly, smoothly, deliciously moist. "You started this little dance of ours, lady." One ancient and full of potential. He fought through his fatigue and achy muscles to keep rhythm, tasting her flesh, nipping her skin. "You offered," he whispered. "And I'd be stupid not to take it."

"I'd be stupid not to offer."

Their night in Treno had yet to cease. Kuja's blonde courtesan laughed coyly when in public, charmed all with her wit, and played sultry vixen when in private. He'd be stupid to protest when she flipped him and pushed him on his back, mounting him like a soldier on a chocobo. Lucky for him, Lady Hilda chose not to ride side-saddle.

* * *

The Alexandrian Queen slumped forward in her throne, dropped her head in her hands. Healthy and cured of plague, the news brought forth from her king-consort did not refrain from causing a dull headache. "I thought I saw his black eyes," she mumbled. "Never in a million years did I think my aunt would convert him."

Zidane shrugged, propped himself against the stone and marble. "You pardoned him, Dag'."

"And at what price? If she does not return to Lindblum, the regency will collapse." A kingdom was only as strong as its citizens. When the population dropped, so did the power of their rightful ruler. "What ever possessed my aunt to run off with Kuja? Her reputation is ruined now; the councilmen see her as whore."

"That's kinda harsh, don't ya think?"

"I'm repeating only what has been said."

Snort. "What hasn't been said already?" Zidane picked at the dirt in his nails.

"The black death is rampant. How could she just leave them all?" A thought struck her then, making her gasp. "Kuja can compel! Mind control! A hex!"

"You're not giving your aunt much credit as a mage, babe." Very few wise women mastered the art of bodily manipulation. The history books and fairy tales counted them among the magical elite. "She can fight off whatever hex he tried to place on her."

"Then I think you're underestimating your brother!" Her feet found the ground, her voice found its volume. "We've seen what he can do and destroy!"

"So has Lady Hilda and she's probably warming his bed as we speak."

Flabbergasted, insulted, Garnet shook her head. "Zidane, how dare you."

"I'm repeating only the truth." He winked, but the conversation didn't get any lighter. "Kuja healed you and saved countless lives here."

Garnet remembered all too vividly the raging fever of plague, the massive headache that pounded her temples. Her cure spells barely eased her suffering, did nothing for the infectious boils erupting on her skin. She hadn't been strong enough to chant anyway. Attendants and chambermaids feared the worse for their young monarch - and she had yet to birth an heir.

When Kuja first arrived in her kingdom, she feared her mind tricked her, a hallucination that wore a black robe and white bird's mask. A plague doctor, the ancient physicians of yore. That same hallucination was not supposed to have silver hair and gentle features. Hallucinations usually disappeared when you blinked or rubbed your eyes, not admire things of beauty or strong craftmanship. Kuja remained, and the queen recoiled when his eyes flashed black.

"Poor little canary," she heard him say. "You'd think a summoner would have a heartier disposition."

Even now, months after the recovery of her kingdom, she on occasion took a dose or two of the astragalus extract. The foreign plant made her body more resistant to disease. "Could he still not save lives in Lindblum with my aunt? Despite the annulment?"

"Okay, Dag'." Zidane pushed himself to stand upright. "What do think you can do about it? Hilda doesn't want to return and I don't think either of us can convince her."

"She's been corrupted."

More harsh words. "No, I think she's embracing a new side of herself that she normally hides away." Specifically, a darker and more selfish part of her personality. "We all have it, to a certain degree."

The scale between good and evil usually hovered in a comfortable balance. Close enough to the light for prudence and acts of charity, but not so far away from the dark side that one is a pushover. The former first lady of Lindblum tilted her scale to the realm of sexual magic and good wine. The line between love and lust didn't fade into a blur, it tied wrists to a bedpost for extra fun.

Zidane suspected the downward sliding scale when he witnessed his brother's regeneration.


	11. Chapter 11

_Mystic: Just when I think my creative juices are all dried out, I climb inside Kuja's head and stay awhile. It's okay. His mind's all squishy._

* * *

**The Conversion Regeneration - AKA Kuja's Story**

* * *

Most men hold a very perverse response when they answer the question: why do you frequent the Treno brothels? If you are not a complete moron, you'd quickly realize that I'm not most men. My answer to such a question is thus: I get lonely and don't often like to sleep by myself. The extra gil to engage in certain physical activity that usually precludes sleep is more than worth it, of course.

Stop giggling, moron. I'm no Regent Cid Fabool. Oh, yes; I've heard all the rumours of his whoredom. If my current bedpartner should be believed (and I don't think she lies), he's probably rot with disease as well. Alright, now you may giggle. Not too much, because you'll get on my nerves.

Alright, that's enough.

You see, my current bedpartner keeps me company in way that doesn't really require any lovemaking. I wouldn't mind it naturally, but she's has yet to offer herself to me and I'm not about to force it on her. Even _I'm_ not that evil. Eventually she'll come around and respond to my kindness. (And I hope it's soon. She's blonde.)

...I'm sorry. Pardon my train of thought. (A pretty blonde.)

Oh, fine; she's a pretty blonde witch. And I adore creatures of beauty.

Do you think I care she's technically married? Ah, weren't expecting that were you? Lady Hilda Fabool of Lindblum shares my palace and bedchambers. My description of her as witch is a slight exaggeration, but it sounds less graphic than blood mage. I still sealed off my broom closet. I've read the legends and history books.

Those grim fairy tales failed to mention that blood mages can compel the mind. Here I thought only I knew that technique. Hmph, silly me. That was the day I learned Lady Hilda was a surprising force when it pertained to spells ...and that she liked to cuddle.

Seriously, stop your giggling.

I'll admit, it stopped my nightmare. (Please, do not ask.) Hence the reason she shares my chambers without the price of her body. (An hourglass shaped body, too. Hm? What?) Hilda sleeps beside me at night, and I rest with peaceful dreams. As for the reason my thoughts are rambling like a troll in heat (...what?), that's because it is well past midnight and she is not in my chambers. There is no feminine form curled against my chest, no soft hair nestled beside mine.

I can't sleep like this.

I slid on a silk robe to keep out any chill as I searched for my ...hm, come to think of it, the term prisoner doesn't quite make sense like it used to. A ward perhaps? No, she's not an orphan child I've agreed to raise as my own. Once I'm well-rested, I'll think of an appropriate term to describe our relationship. Wait, that's not right either.

...oh, sweet Shiva. I'm not thinking straight and it's that bloody witch's fault.

Hm, blood. And there's a full crimson moon out tonight. Ah ... I've still got it!

Why is my broom closet smoking? One, two, three ... three? One of them is missing...

How did she break my seal?!

I didn't run outside, I _sprinted_. She'd better not even try to run off on me. I'll search for her all over Gaia, kidnap her from her private quarters in Lindblum and - oh, there she is. Seated atop my greenhouse. My word, she's a strange little thing. "Lady?" I called out. The missing broom sat beside her.

"Mm?" She leaned down, smiled when she noticed me. "Hello, sweetie."

Lately, her blonde hair's been flying free across her shoulders. I like that; it's pretty. "Is that what you're calling me now?" A person looking in on us would surely get the wrong idea. "What are you doing out here? It's late."

"Come join me, sorcerer."

Well, it's more dignified than 'sweetie'. I acquiesced, and leapt. Almost immediately, the lady plopped herself on my lap. It was natural, how well she fit against me. The scent of gentle lavender and rose-water surrounded her. Very pleasant, very female, very - hold on. There was something else, something more earthy and iron. I grabbed her wrist, not caring that she grimaced out of pain. "What witchcraft did you chant?" A woman's wrist should be delicate and smooth, not wrapped with a bloodied and dried bandage.

"Blood magic," she answered.

She tried to pull back, but I held firm. "So you maim yourself? Foolishness, Hilda."

"A scar is a small price to pay for your safety." I let go at her words. My safety? I'm never in mortal danger. "Drink this and don't make me regret it." She handed me a flask half-filled with my favourite wine.

Part of the liquid was wine. The rest was _her_. "Hilda, what spell is this?"

"I don't trust Garland."

Join the club, lady. We have t-shirts somewhere. "And you expect me to imbibe your blood like some rogue vamp -"

"No." She put a finger to my lips before I finished the 'forbidden' word. "You know that's not what we are. My blood will protect you, nothing more."

"I don't require your protection."

"Kuja, please." She turned in my lap so she faced me straight and flush, those long legs of hers on either side my hips. "Let me help you. You're bitter and terrifying and I live in fear every day I'm around you, but I'm offering you a part of me so you can survive."

It's not the part I want, lady.

"Excuse me?!"

Oh, I did not intend to say that out loud. My mistake. She scrambled so quickly out of my lap, I swore I almost saw eggs.

"Get up!"

"Don't you dare order me around, Hilda!"

"I wasn't talking to you, Kuja!" My broom floated beside her, remained still as she climbed aboard. I admit, that's rather impressive. "I've been insulted by a man once before, sorcerer. Never will I stoop so low by bedding my warden."

Fine, then. Prisoner it is. "Get down from there, lady, and go to my chambers." It's apparent I've been too kind to the female; I must rectify that and remind her of her place.

Lady Hilda flashed me a grin so unlike her in previous days, one of malicious intent, of witchcraft, of defiance. Nobody of sound mind defies _me_. "You'll have to catch me first." And she left. She flew off cackling like the old crones that reside in the forests.

Oh, no; she _didn't_.

"HILDA!"

Don't think of me too crude; any gentleman would take advantage of a woman flying high through the air. I mentioned previously the lady's lovely long legs, and a night-shift and robe don't make for the most modest of attire. Excuse me for indulging in the image.

Alright, pleasure of the eyes over. Now I make chase and capture the little witch. Watch, this is brilliant. Someone should write it all down and turn it into an opera. Maybe I will after it's all said and done.

Hilda gasped when I steadied behind her, screamed when I grabbed her waist. (So slim too.) A hand over her mouth halted that eventual tantrum. "One more word, lady," I warned, willfully making my voice as dark as possible, "and you'll find yourself in another bind." She nodded, eyes wide with what I knew was fear. "Good girl," I said, taking in the scent of her hair. "Now put my broom back on the ground."

Fingers still on her lips, she whispered, "Go down."

Yes, yes; I'm well aware of the perverse and hidden meaning of those two words but mid-air is neither the time nor place. No, the dirt upon which we've landed isn't either. Not in my opinion anyway. I released the hold on her mouth, but not on her middle. Thankfully, she only stared at me, green eyes full of sharpness and steel nerves.

"Well, my lady? Who's cackling now?" I held her flush against my chest. One, because it reminded her of the mage in charge; and two, because it felt very good. "You may speak if you must." No, I'm still not letting go.

"Kuja," she said. "Just take my blood. That is all I will ever ask of you."

Interesting. Every time Lady Hilda speaks my name, my heart flutters for a brief moment. Heartbeat, _of course_. I told you I'm not thinking straight. My curiosity won out and my palm found its way to her chest. Through the thin fabric of her shift, where her breath caused the rise and fall of her breasts, I felt the steady thump of her heart. Several seconds later, my palm smoothed to the left. A second, smaller heart slowly drummed a separate rhythm.

Patrons of Treno might consider this groping; I call it an examination. "Will I grow another heart?"

She nodded. "Eventually, yes."

"Will I grow another of ...something else?" Okay, now you may think of me a bit crude. I'm simply curious, honest.

The lady sighed. "Every male convert asks that."

"And how many men have you converted?"

"Zero, Kuja. I hope you'd do me the honor of being my first."

Yes, well; pretty positive I missed out on that honor - _oh_, she means convert. Yet one more mistake due to my exhausted mind. "First and only?"

"... That's the idea."

"Do I grow another -?"

"No," she answered quickly. "And before you ask anything else, it doesn't become double-pronged either."

Hmph, a slight disappointment. "Look at me, lady Hilda. Blink." Smart woman, she obeyed. A flash of black cloaked her pupils. Not quite sure the darkness matched my complexion. "For Gaia's sake," I finally said. "Why even bother?"

"Please, Kuja." My one heart fluttered again, but I think because she attempted to take control and grab me by the collar of my robe. Desperation made women do the strangest things. "Let me help you. Let me see you live beyond whatever you have planned."

"Hilda, I look at you almost every single day and I don't understand a thing about you."

Here stood a woman who claimed she felt fear, yet wanders about my palace like a wife. She rambles in my kitchen, harvests from my greenhouse, reads books from my library. We share a bed together, a pillow even, and she desires I take her blood. I continued to hold her by the waist while we stood together under in the twin moonlight. But I wasn't alone in that action. She held me at the shoulder.

"Sorcerer, what am I to you?"

Hmph, good question. At my hesitation, she asked again. "Am I your prisoner, Kuja, or a random woman who stayed on the wrong airship?" I shall take that as an insult, but she ran her mouth some more. "There are moments when I never want to leave your side, but other times I think I shall risk an escape. You tell me you're cruel, you tell me of Garland, but I don't see any of that toward _me_. Tell me what I am, Kuja, because I don't know anymore!"

No, no; don't start. Please don't. Ifrit's horns, tears are flowing down her face. What a hassle. After a few minutes of her sobs, I remembered what happens to lady's mind when wrought with distress. It weakens tremendously, almost snaps in twain. Perfect for me.

"Hilda," I said. "Shh..." My fingertips went to her temples, a soft touch all it required.

She realized too late what I was doing. "Kuja, no!"

"Go to sleep."

"...No, I don't want to." Her voice grew quieter.

"Don't fight it." I felt her mind begin to drift. "Just relax. Sleep." Resistance is pointless. When will people learn? I caught her when she collapsed.

Not to worry. I still plan on teaching Hilda her place.

* * *

Lady Hilda's place, of course, was beside me in my bed. And yet, sleep eluded me despite the late hours. Like all other nights, Hilda lay her head across my shoulder, her arm over my stomach. Thanks to my sleep spell, she'd remain in such a state for several hours. Two heartbeats drummed against my side.

On my night table sat the flask. _The_ flask. What I called witchcraft, she called blood magic. I ran a finger along the intricate etching; a fancy, swirled 'H' carved into the silver. The potent potion of wine and blood did nothing to my physical form. Only one heart nestled in my chest. For now, I thought.

What was she?

What would she ever be?

Hilda gave a happy sigh as she slept against me, a small smile about her lips. Always clever, the little witch. While I waited for any effect, she shifted closer, tighter. Nay, I think lover is out of the question for the time being. She's still quite broken from an unhappy marriage. Tch, humans. Pitiful creatures.

Moments before I resorted to a sleep spell on my person, I breathed. One deep breath, but something felt ...off. Not necessarily wrong, just -

I exhaled a cloud of golden dust.


	12. Chapter 12

_Mystic: Still wandering the halls of Kuja's mind. Expect a touch of ooc-ness, because conversion and regeneration just screw with you. _

* * *

**Conversion Regeneration Part II**

* * *

My final act as Angel of Death, before the curtain fell on this torrid life, seemed a noble attempt for penance and absolution. I've never been one to pay any mind to those words, but a little witch used to drone on and on about it over a cup of hot tea. Zidane, my younger brother, noticed when I teleported his comrades away from the wretched tree. My magic was not used up yet, however. Just enough twitched through my fingers for one more chant.

"Go home, Zidane," I whispered, tasting the metal iron of blood on my lips. "Survive and go home."

Before I heard his vain attempt at protest, the roots began to collapse around us. I may not deserve to live after everything, but Zidane desired his canary. Not a poor choice for a lover, a young queen who can summon mythical monsters. He accepted my protection, tried to protect me. Don't bother, brother. My heart has finally stopped.

My last breath emerged as a gold cloud, the first time since I accepted the blood of a witch.

"What the hell was that?"

Poor Zidane; a thief did not have experience in the realms of conversion. My mind lay silent, a dark tunnel of regret and lost moments.

_Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump_

One heart, one rhythm. One of a manufactured genome with a corrupted soul.

_thump ...thump ...thump ...thump ...thump _

A second heart, a separate rhythm. One of a blood mage forever bound to a female who likes to ride a broom.

_Thump-thump-thump-thump_

_thump ...thump ...thump ...thump_

My screams when the blood began to flow through my body resounded to the very heavens, then fell to the pits of Ifrit's domain. They stopped in the area the blood mages refer to as purgatory. It's a prison of sorts. One day I plan to research it a bit.

"Kuja!"

Not to worry, dear brother. This is not how genomes die; this is how a blood mage lives. This is how I am reborn.

Fire escaped through my hands. Zidane, actually being clever for a change, jumped quickly out-of-the-way. In case any of you weren't fully aware (complete fools), there are four humours in the body that regulate health and fight disease. If the balance between the four becomes a skewed in any way, it leaves open the door for sickness to enter. Right now, my humours were in disarray and attempting to correct themselves.

Here's a revelation for you: it doesn't feel good at all.

Blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. All shifted to their proper place, and yes, the fire continued though my hands and now my head. Please, do not ask how any of this is remotely plausible. I think it's safe to assume that this is a powerful form of witchcraft and we should leave it at that. The roots of the Iifa Tree did not even scorch.

Every muscle seized before the fire ceased its flames. I convulsed like a child with a dangerous fever. (Yes, I've seen it. Not a lovely image.) And then, peace. Beautiful peace and silence. Zidane, still present, carefully climbed down to pat me on the face. I did not appreciate it, so I grabbed his hand and shoved it away.

"You're alive!"

Yes, you moron. I'm alive, I'm a blood mage, and I have two hearts. And a massive headache. What I required now was a strong cup of white willow bark tea, sweetened with a touch of honey from a local beekeeper. Those dwarves keep bees, do they not? Normal bees? Regular bees? Not those giant bees that try to maim you?

"Kuja," said Zidane. "Speak to me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

I brushed his hand away. "Not now, sweetie."

...wait.

"Whoa, man!" My brother scooted quickly away in the other direction. "You may look like a girl, but that's wrong on so many levels."

His incompetence forced me to sit straight on my own. With a struggle, I managed to raise up and lean against the Iifa's trunk. "Can I have an apple? I love devil's apples."

For whatever reason, Zidane looked very confused. "You can't eat mandrake; it's poison."

"No, it's toxic. Good for the brain." Maybe I should scan the area. "Are you sure you don't have one?"

"Something's wrong with you."

Before I could slap or insult him (how dare _him_ talk like that to _me_), my body seized again. Only briefly this time, and I exhaled another cloud of gold dust. Sharp pains ran up my arms and legs. "I hope that stops soon." Please, whatever spirit is listening, let this inferno headache go away. Make it go away.

"A Witch's Flight," I heard him whisper. "You've been converted; you're a blood mage!"

I grinned. "Oh, so you're not that stupid."

"Tantalus performed it years ago." He knelt beside me and took my face in his hands, stared at me with intent. "Aren't you supposed to have black eyes?"

His wrists found themselves trapped in my hands. "You're not a mage; you cannot see them."

"Two hearts?" At my nod, he plopped down at my side. "Huh, and I thought A Witch's Flight was just really good storytelling."

"It is," I said. "Written by the Lady Morgana, lover and consort to Lord Avon, based on the stories she heard as a child."

"I played her bodyguard."

"Hmph."

Zidane smiled like a lad's first visit to Treno. "Is there anything else you have two of?"

I could have slapped him; I should have slapped him. Instead, I pushed him off in hopes he'd crash to the ground. "No, moron."

Well, darn. He didn't crash to the dirt, only held on by his fingertips. "Hey! I was curious! Who the hell converted you and why did you call me sweetie?!"

"It's what she called me!"

He struggled to climb back up. He dangled on his elbows, grinning at me. "Didn't know you had a girlfriend, man."

"She wasn't a girlfriend." That word is horrendously childish. Do I look like a clueless teenager with boils on his face? There's a reason I wash daily with white wine and calendula flowers.

"Lover?"

"No." Very unfortunate, by the way.

"Um..."

"Try prisoner."

"Awesome, bro. You gave a maiden stockholm-syndrome." Zidane still grinned, still had yet to make his climb.

"The lady wasn't a maiden either." If my brother desired to depress me further, he succeeded. Like it or not, virginity is different for women; and more than a few men take pride in claiming that victory. Blame biology if you're upset about it. The more civilised societies ask that it be granted to a man of worth, not taken out of lust.

Most of society is not civilised.

The thief raised his eyebrows. "Ooh..." he teased. "Another man's wife? Give me a name. I _promise_ I won't tell." He lied, any fool could see it.

"We weren't lovers!" I dropped my chin on my hands. Yes, I'm pouting. Deal with it.

I felt the dirt shift beside me; Zidane sat relaxed again. "Okay, okay. Sure." He stretched his arms, popping them in a few places. "You're a brave son-of-a-bitch to let a blood mage call you sweetie."

Goodness, you're thick, Zidane. Thick, thickety, Mr. Thickster from thickville. And so is your father.

"Garland?" he queried.

Did I just speak what I was thinking again?

"Yeah," he drawled.

Oh, you little bitch.

"HAHAHA! I think you mean witch."

"Stop it!" My head started to throb at the temples. "I haven't fully adjusted to the conversion. She's supposed to assist me."

"Then we can find her and send you in hiding. Tell me who she is."

I stared at him, incredulous. "Are you truly that thick, Zidane? Use that brain of yours for more than pretty girls and think!"

" ...um..."

For the love of Holy and Ultima. "Blood magic, Zidane. Blood magic." I tapped him by his ears. "Name the one person on Gaia who can manipulate a grown man into a oglop."

"Hilda?" When I smiled at her name, his disappeared in the abyss of broken dreams and lost opportunities. A smashed heart or two might be buried in the rubble. "That can't be," he finally said. "We rescued her -"

"Imbeciles."

" -she was terrified of you -"

Anybody of sound mind would be terrified of me, but I let Zidane run his mouth some more.

" -said you were a nightmare of all things. Wait, why was she in Mount Gulug with you? Is that how you treat your prisoners? I mean, Shiva's tits, Hilda is Cid's wife!"

I snorted. "Do you honestly think that'll stop me, Zidane? I'm still the villain in this play, after all."

"Why would she convert you?"

For once in all my limited years, I did not have a snappy retort at my disposal. I remained silent, contemplative about the woman with blonde hair and sharp eyes and hourglass curves. So many memories and images of the witch flooded my mind, it made my headache worse. Stealing my broom, dallying in my greenhouse, mixing extracts and tinctures in my cellar. She requested use of my cauldron once, and yes, I granted permission.

_Aha! Yes! Now that is how you play a game of cards!_

_Oh? No, lady; not quite. _

_But I never lose! _

_Well, my lady? About that kiss you owe me..._

Lady Hilda still owed me a kiss in exchange for not taking her cards. I believe one of her handmaidens taught her how to play. My temples and forehead throbbed, and nobody of any skill sat nearby to either hand me a cup of tea or compel my mind to rest. Oh, Bahamut; Lady Hilda did that as well, and with such a gentle touch.

_Shh, Kuja. Please, relax._

_Relax and rest your thoughts._

_Ease away tension._

_No more nightmares._

_No more nightmares..._

"Kuja," said Zidane, interrupting my memories. "Why would she convert you or give you a pet name?"

"Zidane," I responded. "Did it ever occur to you that she told you and ...the regent what she wanted you to hear? A woman's reputation becomes tarnished to oblivion if she admits emotions toward the villain." The thief, the hero, stared at me with wide, questioning eyes. "I kept her alive because I respected her abilities. I acted chivalrous toward her because I enjoyed her company. I treated her as my companion instead of my prisoner, and like it or not, against my better judgment, I believe I developed those same emotions."

He continued to only look in my direction. "Is that why we found her standing next to a bed?"

"We had plans, yes."

"Oh..."

My mind started to recollect another vivid memory. Lady Hilda, over a dinner of owl braised in wine, had grabbed my hand and requested my company once the sun settled in its bed on the horizon. My first mistake (yes, even I make them), was telling her that I had other plans that needed priority. The second mistake committed was not bedding her before she even asked. Weren't men supposed to seduce and co-erce?

Since Hilda was not here to help my transition, I realized that for next forseeable future, I was on my own. She spoke of a realm, the hidden territory of her people. It was necessary that I find it and take time to fully recover. "Tell the world what you wish, brother. Spin the story of how I died saving you and your comrades as penance for my crimes."

He stood. "What, why?"

"And don't you dare tell Hilda that I'm alive." I struggled to stand myself, the dizziness causing me to stumble against Zidane. He held me up by my waist. "Her heart's been broken enough by men."

"Listen," he said. "I can talk to Dagger, have her grant you a pardon -"

"Don't. Just don't."

"Where will you go?"

I leaned against the dilapidated trunk. "Realm of the blood mages." Two hearts beat in my chest, both drumming an unknown rhythm. A firefly hovered by my eyes, blinking its light as a guide. "My next true home."

Through the rays of sunlight that wove through the crooked branches, and the soft wind that rustled the leaves and our hair, I blinked, willing Zidane to see the change. He stepped back, finally aware, and didn't stop me as I walked off to fall to the ground. Floating, drifting, falling. Most expected a disgusting thud, but my landing hit gently upon the new earth.

I was in a village and surrounded by people. A crone caught me when I fell into a faint. "Oh, isn't he a handsome one," I heard her say. Wisps of long, brunette hair streaked with gray clouded my vision. "Okay, let's get you a hot cup of tea and blanket."

My voice, faint and weak, whispered, "Hilda."

"No, you may call me Rosemary," the elder said. "Hilda was a student of mine years ago. Come along now; stand up, handsome."

Must I? A part of me wanted nothing more than a long nap.

"You're going to come back to my place and sleep off this regeneration. Conversion is rough when you're by yourself."

This old crone did not realize the half of it.


	13. Chapter 13

_Mystic: Okay, flashback time over. Back to the regularly scheduled plot. Treno! And Sir David's back again! (coughcoughDavidTennantcough)_

* * *

**The Summons**

* * *

Kuja never woke up early when he visited Treno. Due to the long-lasting parties or late-night opera performances, sleep started long past the classic witching hour, and ended shortly after late morning. Coffee houses and cafes made large amounts of gil catering to their hung over patrons. The most famous shoppe in the city stood quietly on the border of noble and peasant homes, offered a double-shot concoction of caffeine and sugar syrup at a very fair price. Nothing else cured the minor headache and fatigue that plagued a sorcerer and his equally groggy mistress.

He shifted to his side, buried his face in strands of tangled blonde hair. Slumber did not return to him, but he was more than content to relax away the morning in bed. Hilda moaned softly, still didn't stir. Not the first female to grace his side at such an hour, but easily the most magical and witty. Mayhap that maid of hers would be willing to walk down the street and purchase a few cups of a double-shot coffee.

Well, now was as good a time as any to get over her fear of traveling alone. Kuja knew the reason for her phobia, understood it, but at the moment didn't really care. He was not about to escort the maid himself and, if she truly did have white magic in her blood, she would have a rudimentary (and pathetically weak) Holy at her fingertips. A white mage's cloak hung somewhere in his closet; that and a small staff offered a decent warning to potential attackers. (Which, unfortunately, Treno had plenty of due to alcohol-warping, angry men who couldn't afford even the cheapest of street-walker.)

As the sorcerer considered his options; namely, remain in bed with his lover or wake the fearful maidservant, a knock resounded on the bedchamber door. Groaning and scowling, he very reluctantly left Hilda's form and grabbed a robe for decency's sake. A smiling Freema appreciated it greatly. "Good morning, my lord. Coffee?" She offered a prize of smooth drink blended with cream. Two hot cups balanced on a tray in her hands. "There's this brilliant little shoppe between the noble and peasant houses. The prices were fantastic."

Kuja blinked, rubbed his eyes. "Thank you, Freema. Very well done." After a comforting sip, his mind fully comprehended the circumstances. "Did you go out yourself without an escort?"

Freema gave a smug grin. "It was stupid that I didn't think about it before. I found this chastity belt in your closet."

"What were you doing rummaging about in my closet?"

"Looking for more wine," she answered with a shrug. "Sorry. Lady Hilda never let me handle the drinks back in Lindblum."

"Goodness girl; I couldn't imagine why."

"Is it just me or is this thing laced with a thunder spell? Anyway, it feels _great_ everytime I take a step."

Kuja chose a poor moment to take another sip of his coffee. His eyes glanced around toward the bed; Hilda chuckled into her pillow before rolling to her back and adjusting the comforter. "I knew I left that chastity belt somewhere, Kuja." She sighed happily, hands by her head. "If you like, Freema, I'll add a water spell to it for more walking pleasure."

"You mean, it feels even better if it's wet?"

"Naturally," said Kuja. "But we'll let Senator Noel explain that in further detail." He took the second cup of coffee off the tray. "Do you have a drink for yourself, Freema?"

"Oh, yes, my lord. The couple behind the counter was very friendly." With the tray empty, she tucked it under her arm. "They even offered me a position as a barista."

Hilda chuckled again, sat up against the pillows with the comforter draped delicately over her curves. "This is Treno, dear. You'd be dallying in positions far more risqué than brewing coffee to customers."

"Well, I turned down their offer anyway."

Kuja grinned. "A wise decision on your part. Save your energy for the senator." At her faint blush, he started to shoo her out of his chamber. "Thank you, Freema; your work is very appreciated. Now go clean up whatever mess you made."

She nodded, left the lord and lady to their lonesome. The latter smiled softly, fatigue still clinging to her features. "Nice to see the old chastity belt being used properly, though I hoped to pass it along to Eiko one day."

Kuja winced, very much uncomfortable with the topic. "I taught you Ultima, lady. Isn't that enough of a deterrent?"

"Have you taught Eiko Ultima?"

"No, but I probably should." He handed her a coffee before re-joining her on the bed. "That summoner has quite a bit of talent. Such a shame I didn't catch it before."

His mistress inhaled the sweet scent of the drink. "Memories, Kuja. Such delicious memories." One sip brought her bliss of creamy proportions. "You purchased coffee for me on our last journey here."

"Promise me something, Hilda."

"I'm both intrigued and fearful." But thankfully more alert.

"You are not allowed to wear the chastity belt anymore." It was scary enough when she laced the device with a thunder (and sometimes water) spell, but it was also specifically designed with pointed metal teeth. Kuja almost used a flare star on the ...thing when he found it tucked away in his closet after his messy conversion. "Not like I didn't know a way around it back then."

Hilda rolled her eyes at his arrogance, made worse after a night of passion. "Of course, sweetie. If anyone can wrestle away a chastity belt, it'd be you." Nobody else made coffee _this_ delicious. She forgot how much she missed it back in Lindblum.

"Lady, don't humor me. It's too early for that."

"But not too early for a bath?" She even batted her eyelashes.

"You know where my bath house lies," he said with a wave of his hand. "I shall join you." Because no man of sound mind would ever miss the opportunity to gaze upon a woman while she relaxed in warm water and flowery soap. Kuja's mind created sounds of symphony and operatic harmony.

* * *

Freema found herself alone again in the manor house, eating a simple breakfast of fresh fruit with cream. The sorcerer prevented any further attempt at wine-tasting by sealing off his cellar with a dangerous chant. White magic or otherwise, the servant girl did not dare touch the door. So she performed her usual tasks after breakfast; the countertops required a wipe down, the floors needed swept, and dishes washed and put away.

It was while drying the last bowl did she sense the odd aura of enemy spells. The aura was strong; yes, but strangely friendly and almost ...fun? Alright, not the best way to describe it, but Freema never did spend much time outside the Lindblum palace walls. The only other mage in her line of vision was her lady (and now Kuja). Strange, friendly, enemy ... ah! A blue mage. She straightened her apron before answering the knock at the door.

"Ah, hello," said the guest. "I'm a noble." Then he gave a cheeky grin, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Freema eyed him up and down a second. Pinstripe suit, sideburns, brown hair all sticky-uppy. "Are you Sir David?" she asked.

"The one and only." His grin refused to go away. "Lord Kuja and Lady Hilda around? Got a surprise for them -_well_, a letter."

"They're at the bath house."

"Oh, well; what better way to spend the morning. I myself had to calm down a moogle. Have you ever had to calm down a moogle?" Sir David waltzed into the home, hands still in his pockets, much to the dismay of a wide-eyed servant girl. "Poor thing heard things not meant to be heard. Then my little boy coughed and wheezed in its face."

Freema stared at him, blinking. "You're completely mad."

He stared back. "I'm not shouting, am I?"

"No..."

"Well," he shrugged. "I'm sitting out on my balcony with my sick son, my mistress and daughters out in the garden when this terrified little moogle flies up and starts rambling about grunts and groans in the household of Lord Kuja. He thinks someone's hurt until the sounds get a tad more sexy."

Freema gasped, started chuckling behind her hand. "Oh, no! The moogle heard them during -"

"Yeeeaaahh..." David scratched the back of his head. "Anyway, he hands me a summons meant for them and orders me to deliver it. I try not to anger moogles because I had one threaten me with a knife and no one likes to anger something cute who likes to play with sharp knives. _Well_, he said he was sharpening it."

If Freema were tied down and forced to describe the personality of this particular nobleman, she'd claim him as a skinny idiot who liked to ramble and describe anything in his line of vision. "And this summons is?" she trailed off, praying he took the hint.

David took it and grinned at it. "Here you go. All proper and with a royal seal; I like royal seals." Blue magery; it had to be. From the thinnest of trouser pockets emerged a large, rectangular envelope stamped with a wax seal upon which lay a swirled 'A'.

"How did that fit in your pants, sir?"

He winked. "Bigger on the inside."

* * *

Fresh, clean, and a little less achy, Lady Hilda sat beside the grand table in Kuja's home. Her sharp eyes scanned the letter, its message written in delicate black ink. Kuja, leaning over his lover's shoulders, recognized the penmanship almost immediately. "The canary is requesting us, is she not?"

"She is," said Hilda, hands on her chin. "An informal audience. Most likely hoping to confirm or deny the many rumors swirling about Lindblum."

"The queen will want clarification, nothing more. It's my brother who wants the gossip." Kuja looked over at Freema, who carefully inspected the envelope. "Sir David created a new class of blue magic, girl. It'd do you no good to attempt to figure it out."

"Have you tried to make sense of it?" she queried.

The sorcerer gave an undignified snort. "He came to me for assistance."

"I should have realized his spells had your hand written all over it." Hilda folded the letter of her niece back into thirds. "And why do I suspect that you'll send me over to his household the moment your two hearts stop?"

"Because I will," the sorcerer said, flicking back his hair. "If Mistress Joan is still around, you'll be transferred to the home of his cousin."

Instead of a scowl of displeasure or insult, Hilda smiled warmly, one of acceptance. "Sir Matthew," she teased. "Of course; he escorted me to a masquerade once. That mage was always so upset he wasn't born a ginger. And thinks fezzes are, for lack of better words, cool."

Freema glanced up. "They're not?"

"Dear me, _no_."

"My lady, if you don't mind me asking." The girl hesitated for a few seconds, but eventually found her words. "If you were to die first, what of Lord Kuja?"

He grimaced. "Highly unlikely."

"But not improbable," said Hilda. "I cannot conjure an oglop spell while buried in the ground, so Kuja is free to receive another female's company. Just be certain she's powerful enough to keep you in line."

"Watch what you say, lady."

"It's not wise for you to live alone, sweetie." Pet names tended to soften the blow of harsh or blunt words. "You need someone to hold you back."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then you must better keep me occupied."

Freema wisely decided to stay out of the conversation and fold towels instead.


	14. Chapter 14

_Mystic: *sings* It's the most wonderful time of the year! Back to school and the house is all mine! AHAHAHAHA!_

* * *

**The Most Feared **

* * *

The fireflies hovered between the two realms, their lights showing a path to the mystical and, what some claimed, haunted. Kuja caught one small blinking creature, opened the doorway to the blood mage territory. When the village appeared before the three, Freema hesitated a moment, mouth and eyes open in awe. "Oh, my goodness," she breathed. "This is incredible. My lady, will I truly be safe here?"

Hilda handed her a steaming mug of brandied cider, purchased from the same elderly woman. "Of course, dear. Why would you even think otherwise?"

"Not exactly pale like you." Freema pointed to her dark complexion.

Kuja scowled, hand on his hip. "Look around, girl; you're not exactly unique anymore." He sipped at his cider. Various individuals walked about, much like any other village or town. Children played with jump ropes or spinning tops, climbed trees and ran around their parents. Peddlers advertised various goods in their quaint shops; medicines, spellbooks, oddly shaped 'marital aids'. A minstrel strolled before Freema, winked at her; his skin the same as her own.

"Can ...can I just follow him around?" She grinned eagerly. "Oh, I cannot wait to show off a strong husband to my mother. It will blow her mind!" The thought made her smile all the more. She'd waltz toward her mother's door, arm linked around a properly chosen man, then knock triumphantly. Maybe he'd be a young widower with offspring so her mother couldn't complain about lack of a grandchild. _See, mother?_ she would say. _I did find a husband, now go hike off of a short pier._

"Onward to the senator," said Lady Hilda. She began to walk toward the finest home. "Last I heard, one of his girls recently wed a private guardsman. The Lone Centurion." A group of laughing children ran past them, on their way to a crone's home for daily lessons. "I do know, however, that several of his councilmen require wives. You, Freema, might very well have your pick of the men."

"My lady, this is brilliant!" The girl started to run her fingers through her hair and brush any dirt off her dress. She toyed with the thought of tightening her corset or lowering her blouse a bit off her shoulder. After a minute of thinking, she chose to ignore the corset but lower the blouse.

Back in Lindblum, she performed her duties silently, yet with a smile. If she were to believe the stories of Senator Noel, she'd still be able to smile, but silence would be completely impossible.

* * *

Inside his home, Freema's heart jumped to her throat and made its home there permanently. She understood the paintings of topless of women, the large rooms of his estate covered in thick blankets and pillows, but the way he currently circled around her and eyed her up and down made her second guess the decision to bare a little shoulder. "Hm," he mused, nodding. "You're in luck, Mistress Hilda. I have a position available for this lovely young woman."

Kuja cracked a grin. He stood beside his lover on the opposite corner of the room. "And very few of them involve both feet on the ground, correct?" Lady Hilda rolled her eyes, and poor Freema wondered if she should've listened to her mistress more closely during their occasional girl talk.

"You exaggerate my reputation, Lord Kuja." The senator glanced again at Freema's backside. "But, yes."

Hilda smiled, crossed over and took the girl's hands. "Alright, Freema; you are in his hands now. When I see you again, you better have a husband on your arm and a babe in your belly."

"Yes, madam," she said, a blush creeping on her face.

"I will also write an impolite letter to your mother."

Freema giggled. "Don't hold back."

* * *

"MAMA!" said Eiko with a grin, jumping up from the table. "Can I go home with you and Kuja now? Oh, wait. I forgot." She grabbed the sides of her skirt and curtsied in the sorcerer's direction. "My lord."

"How marvelous," he remarked with a flare of his hand. "I taught you something after all."

Miss Rosemary, crone extraordinaire, rose from the table and handed the summoner a broom. "Lady Hilda, you did well instructing Eiko basic takeoff and landing. I simply polished her riding style."

"She made me ride side-saddle."

"What better way to ride is there?" Hilda asked.

Kuja gave her a sideways glance. Miss Rosemary's home was quaint and earthy, a treehouse perfectly suited to one or two people. Dried herbs hung throughout the pantry and kitchen, textbooks sparking with spells rested on a carved table. A mortar and pestle sat beside them. "Your opinion, Miss Rosemary. I plan to teach the child a few of my own chants -"

"Ultima?" piped Eiko. "It's Ultima, right? I get to learn Ultima and Flare Star?"

"Didn't I tell you not to interrupt me?"

The crone nodded. "Oh, she's more than ready."

"Yahoo!"

"However," said Miss Rosemary.

"Aw, crap."

Hilda scolded, "Eiko, language!"

"However," Miss Rosemary said again. "I believe it is in Eiko's best interest first to master the basic blood mage spells before any of the sorcerer's."

Not exactly the sentence Eiko wanted to hear. "Aw, darn."

"She's not yet turned," Kuja stated. "How can she learn your witchcraft?"

"You don't need to turn her right away." The crone strolled over to the carved table and picked up a spellbook. "Have you ever noticed how little children can learn a foreign language so easily?" She plunked the spellbook in Kuja's hands. "Her mind is open enough for any education, but not so much that other knowledge falls out."

He understood. "Wonderful. Yet one more witch in my penitential life."

"This is penance for you?" asked Hilda, eyebrow raised. "Which set of prayer beads do you prefer?"

Kuja, in all his years, never found the purpose of prayers. He saw it as a waste of mental time and hard on the knees. However, when in a small room with a crone, a matron, and a female child traditionally considered a young maid, the sorcerer decided now was not the time to harbor disagreement on their religious philosophy. "Bahamut's a dragon, is he not?" The question was asked with his tongue placed firmly against his cheek.

Miss Rosemary's eyes began to twinkle around her wrinkles. "My late husband used Bahamut's prayers!" She clapped excitedly and began to fumble around a nearby desk drawer. "His beads are in here somewhere..."

"Won't Kuja burst into flame if he touches them?" Eiko giggled, then smiled sweetly. It didn't fool anyone.

"I shall remember that the next time you fall ill and request a story." And yet, the sorcerer hinted of mischief and cheap magic tricks.

"When was she ill?" Hilda queried, a mother's concern radiating in her voice.

"Oh, just chocobo pox," said Miss Rosemary, still fumbling in the drawer. "Kuja stopped by while I was out gathering supplies from my garden. I found him spinning quite the yarn so she wouldn't scratch."

Hilda stood agast. "Why wasn't I made aware?"

"Minor ailment, Hilda. Relax. Eiko was up and about in a few days." Another fumble. "Where are those beads ...?"

"And again, you two!" The lady eyed both Kuja and the 'young maid'. "Speaking terms like nothing ever happened. I simply cannot grasp it."

Eiko shrugged, said, "It's an understanding, mother."

"Aha! There they are!" Miss Rosemary stood triumphant. "With Bahamut's medal still shiny and proud. Here, young warlock; have at it."

Kuja raised an eyebrow. "Warlock? I haven't heard that term in ages."

"I'm old-fashioned," said the crone. "Sorcerer is fancy and accurate, and certainly more modern, but warlock, well, it just gets my blood flowing. And you remind me of my late husband."

Kuja stepped closer to Lady Hilda.

"Aw, he didn't burst into flames." Her false pout looked innocent, but the adults in the room knew better. "Kuja, what was that one story you told me? It was about a really young wizard and he was all thumbs when he started working for the king and he had a dragon friend who stayed in a cave and the dragon spoke to him."

"His dragon insulted him every day of his life."

"I know; it was really funny." The girl thought a moment. "What was the wizard's name again? It started with an 'm'."

Any frustrating anger in Hilda's emotions finally dissipated. "Kuja," she mused. "You amazing man. You told Eiko about the boy wizard? He was one of our own centuries ago."

"I read, lady, and I enjoy the occasional fairy tale." He stepped around toward the table, began to collect Eiko's numerous thick books. One showed clear instructions of stargazing and twin moon magic. "The blood mages have quite the collection of fables. Eiko, take these to my dragon please."

"Only if I can ride her."

Whenever the summoner began to grate his nerves like a cheese grater, Kuja always remembered how much she'd be worth once grown and eligible to wed. "How else are we going to leave here, Eiko? We have an audience in Alexandria to attend."

Alexandria? _Alexandria_? As in, **_Zidane_**? The most awesome and bestest consort _ever_ in existence? "YAHOO!"

Three pairs of eyes followed her as she sprinted out the door with her books. Lady Hilda spoke first. "Well done, sorcerer. Now you know what bribe I use to have her do as she's told."

Miss Rosemary laughed. "Eiko is absolutely adorable. A pleasure to keep and teach." She smiled warmly, held her hands in front of her like a prayer. "The last summoner, with her horn intact, has the potential to become one of the strongest mages this world has seen in enochs. Think about it, Lady Hilda; your daughter, a summoner, with _two hearts_."

"You said moments ago we did not need to turn her now." Kuja grew confused, and the look on the crone's face suddenly made his blood turn cold. "Why give her blood when she's this young only to wait fifty or sixty years until a natural death occurs? If you ask me, it's stupid."

Hilda breathed, said, "You don't necessarily have to wait until a natural death." Her eyes darkened, hands fidgeted against the fabric of her cloak.

"Of course not," said her old instructor. "That would be silly, and I don't really approve giving nightshade to children to hasten the process."

"Nightshade?" Kuja cracked a wry grin. "There are many things you did not tell me, Rosemary, when I first came here. I'd appreciate it if you'd talk fully now since the girl will be in my household until I marry her off to a worthwhile mage."

Hilda continued to fidget.

"When Eiko achieves womanhood, warlock," Miss Rosemary's smile turned chaotic and coy, "you give her your blood and the nightshade that very evening."

"I'm bonded to Hilda."

"And she will forever hold one of your two hearts. You and Eiko will be nothing more than parent and child."

"Personally, I think I might refuse."

Rosemary flipped her gray-streaked hair over her shoulder and walked over to her pantry. "Do as you wish with the young maid. My words are only suggestions."

The courtesan in the room looked as if she were about to faint. Lady Hilda grabbed Kuja's hand to steady herself. "Alexandria awaits, Kuja."

"As you wish, lady." He gave a nod of his head.

"Oh," interrupted Miss Rosemary. She poked her head out from the behind the pantry door. "One more thing, Hilda."

"Goodness," she said.

"I have taught Eiko the basic Bad Wolf chant."

Both of her hearts skipped a beat, and she collapsed in the nearest chair. _Bad Wolf Bad Wolf Bad Wolf_. "Brilliant," Hilda breathed. "The one spell from which I can never run away." Nearly a millenia ago, a female mage struck deep with love for another, created the spell in order to find _him_ again. Her actions almost spelled Doomsday with all uppercase letters, but desperate love sealed the imbalance. Now the chant lay scattered through the skies and earth, ran deep in the blood of her children, her children's children, and so forth until it gave Lady Hilda a nagging headache. All because a direct ancestor made the mistake of falling in love with a dangerous individual.

History truly loves to repeat itself. Ad nauseum.

Kuja stared at his lover with a furled eyebrow, ran his long fingers through her hair. "My lady?" he asked. "What form of witchcraft is the Bad Wolf?"

Fresh air; that's what she required. A gentle breeze and light sunshine would clear her head. Almost rudely, she stole the sorcerer away from the crone's house until they stood alone on the wooden walkway. "Every single one of our fairy tales holds a grain of truth," she explained, both hands entwined with his. "All of Gaia uses the same word for healer or wise man, some even use the term for a mighty warrior. They get that word from us, you realize."

"Doctor," Kuja said. He suspected it had very little to do with a black cloak and white bird mask.

"_The_ Doctor." Hilda squeezed his hands. "The first blood mage. The first man born under Gaia's red moon. The man who gave the rest of us our two hearts."

"If the Doctor is to blame for your kind's creation, how does that explain the Bad Wolf?"

"Consider it love gone wrong."

He chuckled briefly. "And how can love ever go wrong?"

It nearly pained her to answer. Hilda reached up to cup his face. "Oh, sorcerer; I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

" ...Spoilers."


End file.
